Nightshade : Vignette Series
by Ambrelle Shirak
Summary: Same combined Universe as Crackshot's Vignette Series. Compiled under one heading now, for easier reading. Occasionally Snake Eyes/OC.
1. Just My Luck

**Just My Luck**

_Nightshade_

She sits with her head down, eyes lowered to the floor. Her hands are clasped in her lap, to take the harsh weight of the manacles off her wrists. She is terrified, but she's valiantly attempting to hide it. She freely admits her guilt. Not once has she made an attempt to hide anything of who she is, or what she has done. Four hours into the court-martial proceeding, every past grievance she had committed, every act of insubordination, no matter how small, has come to light. General Crowether would see her hanged if he could have his way. She expects nothing more than a full dishonorable discharge, perhaps two or three years in a military prison, before she is thrown to the wolves of Los Angeles once more.

There is no notion that scares her more than to face the ganglands once more, without the protection and stability of her elder brother. She is thankful that there are no media moguls allowed inside the proceedings; her anonymity will be preserved. Just like her brother's. The grief welled up inside her as she pictured Eric's body lowered into an unmarked grave in the Middle East, a victim of a covert operation gone wrong. She had to get a grip.

Taking a deep breath, she shoves the images out of her head, shifting her focus from the floor, to the ceiling. Along her peripheral vision moves the figure of her defending officer, and two men from his unit appointed as her guard dogs. Why anyone would even attempt to defend her, after her actions, remains beyond her scope of understanding. She clenches her fists to hide the tremble in her hands as the defending officer sits down beside her.

"How are you holding up, Private?" General Abernathy seems like such a nice guy, but it's a nice veneer over a hard core. To his credit, he doesn't touch her, doesn't try to comfort her in any way.

"I'd like to puke, sir," she tries to joke, offering up a wan smile. "But beyond that, I think I'll be fine with whatever they decide to mete out. No matter what happens, it'll be a good two or three years 'fore I have to worry about the _hombres_ back home."

Abernathy grins, and it's the grin of someone who knows more than he lets on. Across the room, Crowether's prosecuting military lawyer watches the two carefully. Crowether himself shuffles through files, not even looking up when he is spoken to. She lifts both her hands to rub at her face, her handcuffs jingling softly.

"You won't be waiting much longer." Abernathy's voice brings her attention forward. There's a scrape of chairs, and a rustle of clothing as everyone in the room rises as one entity. Five generals move into the room, salute, and take seats. She remains standing, watching the generals with controlled fear.

"Private, First Class, Cassandra Riviera. You stand accused of nearly every military infraction aside from outright treason. You have plead guilty and no contest, to a majority of those charges. It is the verdict of this tribunal to inter you to three years of disciplinary action." The presiding general, Frakes, paused long enough for the words to sink in. Her face drained of color, even as Crowether beamed in triumph. "Over the next three years, you will be subject to intense scrutiny, and after the three years has passed, this tribunal will convene again to determine if further course of action is to be taken."

Riviera shakes herself back to awareness. She opens her mouth to question the meaning, but is cut off with a warning glance from Abernathy. Feeling confusion creep up her spine, Riviera sits down heavily. What sort of disciplinary action would cause her sentence to change? Crowether's ears begin to go red with fury, but he contains himself. Abernathy grins like a cat who ate a canary, and salutes Frakes.

General Frakes returns the action. "She's all yours, Hawk. Transfer papers should be completed within the hour."

One of the M.P.s comes over to unlock her cuffs, but Riviera remains seated, bewildered and stationary. Abernathy's two men move to flank her, and one claps her on the back cordially. "Welcome aboard, Riviera!"

* * *

Nearly three hours later, Cassandra Riviera sits in her new barrack, staring quietly at a small frame in her hands. The room is small but comfortable, consisting of the most basic amenities. Riviera has brought along only the most basic personal items essential to her sanity. Her beloved Gibson guitar remains in its case, leaning up against the wall beside her bunk. Beyond that, there is only the picture.

In the picture, she is eleven, and her brother is thirteen. Eric is grinning with a broken front tooth, and the beginnings of a black eye, but he is proud and standing tall. He had just passed his initiation into Mara Salvatrucha, surviving the boot-stomping and physical beating while staying conscious. Young Cassie is wrapped around her brother's waist, gazing up at him with devotion and love. Less than a year after the picture had been taken, she had undertaken the same hazing ritual, and survived. In the corner of the picture, Eric had written:

_No matter what we are always family._

_I will always be here for you._

_Love Eric._

Cassie places the photograph gently beside her, turning it slightly to face the bunk. Her brother would be her charm, and for a moment, she raises her eyes to the ceiling, imagining she is staring up into the cloudless sky. She plans on making these three years something Eric will be proud of, looking down on her from Above.

There's a light knock at the slightly open door, causing her attention to snap focused. She rises automatically upon seeing the General standing there.

"You ready to meet the rest of the team?" Hawk doesn't order her; its a quality of his that she admires. He leads out of respect. She is lucky to have caught his attention.

"Yes sir." Riviera squares her shoulders inside her new uniform. Tailored for her specialty, she already feels comfortable in her blacked-out BDU's. She lets her hair down for the moment, before she glances once more at the photograph. "I'm ready for anything you can throw at me."

She digs deep for a moment, finding some of her famed confidence. Walking beside Hawk, she gets a strange feeling, as though she's finally someplace that she can make a difference. She feels a tugging at the corners of her mouth, and lets herself slowly begin to grin. By the time she catches sight of the full formation of her new team, she is understandably awestruck. Hawk claps her on the shoulder.

"Welcome to the Joes, Nightshade."


	2. A Darkness Complete

A Darkness Complete

_a Nightshade vignette_

"Get in the ventilation shaft!" Flint grabbed Lady Jaye's arm, and wrenched her hard out of the line of fire. He refused to lose his cool, which was one of the qualities that made Flint a great officer. The crates his team had taken cover behind wouldn't hold much longer. Three of them had already been wounded, and their small arms fire was doing squat against the battalion of B.A.T.s and Crimson Guards. A strategic withdrawal was the only choice.

Later he'd figure out who to blame this mess on. One by one, his team bolted across open floor to join him behind the makeshift pile of crates. Tunnel Rat nearly fell when his wounded leg threatened to give out beneath him, but a quick catch by Snake Eyes prevented him from landing prone. Nightshade was the last over, diving and rolling across the gap like she were an old hat. Five months as a Joe and she'd already found her own niche to occupy.

Once the shaft opening was wrenched off, Flint hoisted Jaye inside. She was the lightest, and the least likely to pass out. Grabbing Tunnel Rat's shoulder, Flint motioned for him to proceed next. Thanking his stars silently, Flint helped with coverfire while the bomb-man lifted himself into the vent shaft. Snake Eyes tapped on Nightshade's shoulder, and she gave a nod.

"I got this," she growled through clenched teeth, hunkering down into a smaller target as she leaned out beyond the crates a little.

Snake Eyes responded by grabbing Flint and forcing him into the shaft. Between the three others, they got Flint to shimmy down a bit, allowing Snake Eyes to hop halfway in. Glancing back, Flint could barely see Nightshade pop to her feet from her crouch, and lob her last grenade over the crates. She bounded the last few feet to the shaft, caught Snake Eyes' outstretched arm, and allowed herself to be pulled in to the relative safety.

"I didn't get enough of 'em. So... let's _vamanos, muchacos._" Giving Snake Eyes a slight shove, she urged the group forward.

"Shit!" Nightshade's curse tore Flint's attention away from crawling. Glancing back, over his shoulder, he watched the girl bend double in the shaft, and kick violently at a shape moving up toward her.

The BAT wasn't about to slow down for a few kicks, and once it got close enough, it latched on to Nightshade's ankle. Panic threatened to flood her, as she kept scrambling backwards through the shaft. Any gunfire in this close quarter would surely deafen them all. When the BAT began to tighten its grip, she was positive she was going to lose her ankle.

Something quick and silver whistled by her ear, close enough that it caused her to freeze and her heart to skip. The BATs grip began to loosen, and squinting into the rain of sparks, she saw a slender throwing knife quivering out of its facial plate. Shaking herself free, she rolled back to her stomach and smiled a heartfelt thanks at Snake Eyes.

"The openings just ahead!" Lady Jaye called out, relieved. Outside the building, they would at least have a few moments of respite before coming back under attack. Hopefully, it would net them enough time to signal Ace for air support. They had to navigate a ninety degree turn, before they could pop out into the open. One by one, they cleared the ventilation shaft. Tunnel Rat sagged against the side of the building, taking his weight off his leg, while he scanned the darkening sky. A flock of ravens scattered from a nearby tree, creating a ruckus as Snake Eyes pulled himself out of the shaft.

Leaning back down, he extended an arm for the final member of the team. As Nightshade reached up for his support, he suddenly retracted his hand, spinning in place to focus on the source of a very familiar sound. The whine of turbine engines slowly got louder and louder until the Rattler appeared hovering barely feet over the tree tops. The Crimson Guard in the cockpit blatantly saluted the four Joes above ground, and armed his missiles.

"Scatter!" Flint didn't really need to give the directive, because his team knew exactly what to do. Everyone dove for some manner of cover, even Nightshade, trapped in the shaft, skittered back down the hole as fast as she could move. The explosion rocked them all, hitting just shy of the wall; it blew a crater in the ground the size of a small sedan. The Rattler hovered up a bit, spinning slightly to readjust the targeting system.

Lady Jaye couldn't hear her own voice shouting. But they all felt a secondary explosion rock the ground beneath them. The Rattlers nose-gun started to power up as it pivoted slowly in midair. Before Flint could even scramble for his radio, their air support appeared from the sunset, strafing the Rattler in its first pass. Confronted with a bigger threat, the Rattler disengaged from ground combat and swung into the skies.

Meanwhile, Lady Jaye had maneuvered the ground to the open air shaft; her ears still ringing, she shouted few times down into the metal corridor. Flint grabbed her, wrapping his good arm around her shoulders and pulling her away, giving Snake Eyes enough room to dive back into the hole. The metal was scorched dark and radiating heat from the back blast of the explosion. Landing at the bottom of the vertical shaft, he dropped to his hands and knees and leaned forward.

Shrapnel from exploded BATs lay scattered around the shaft, less than twenty feet down the vent was blocked by the wreckage. Snake Eyes could hear the muffled din of BATs clawing at the scrap metal trying to get through. Nightshade lay on her stomach, facing the BAT wreck, face down with her hands covering her head. Just like she was trained. Snake Eyes stretched out and shimmied up slowly beside her.

The rips and tears scattering over her uniform were shrapnel cuts, some barely scoring her flesh. The backs of her hands were singed, red and angry from the heat of multiple explosions. He lay a hand lightly on her back, relieved to feel her breathing against him. Very carefully, he gathered her up, holding her face gently against his shoulder while he backed out to the vertical joint.

Jaye and Tunnel Rat helped lift her out of the shaft completely. Laying her out on the ground, Jaye checked her pulse and glanced up at Flint. Snake Eyes knelt beside them, and gently rubbed some of the soot of Nightshade's face. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were singed completely off, leaving a peppering of dust on her cheeks.

"We need to get out of Broca Beach. Cutter's swinging in further up shore to pick us up." Flint rubbed his shoulder after stowing his radio. "We good to move her?"

Jaye nodded, and started to get to her knees. "I can carry her, leaves Snake Eyes free inca--" Just as she bend to pick up the prone form, Snake Eyes had already gotten an arm beneath her. For a split second, Jaye felt like she had made eye-contact through the visor with the ninja. She withdrew slightly, leaving him to lift the unconscious Joe.

* * *

_The floor is moving._ That one thought struggled to make itself heard inside Nightshade's senseless mind. _More like swaying._ She let herself drift in that half-aware state for a good while, feeling the soft sway of the floor and trying to equate it to something she knew. Okay, so she couldn't figure out where she was, and when she opened her eyes, it was pitch black out. Letting them close again, she wondered how she got here.

Last thing she remembered... was being firebombed in that air shaft, and looking up just in time to see... half a dozen BATs explode. However, she was warm, and comfortable. So it couldn't have been Cobra that picked her up. Pushing herself slightly up on her elbows, she felt a dozen sore spots over her back and shoulders.

"_Hola_?" Her voice croaked horribly, and a round of coughs forced her to sit up all the way. She heard the sound of a door swing open, and footsteps draw close.

"Nightshade, I need you to lay down," Lifeline's method of pleading was unmistakable. His hands came down on her shoulders with a gentle shove.

"Aye, soon as y'turn me on a light, _hombre_." She lay her hand atop one of his hand held on. For a moment, Lifeline squeezed back. But then an uneasy quiet fell over the room. In the quiet, there was another sound: the soft creak of leather.

"Nightshade," Lifeline's voice broke for a moment. "Cassie..."

She released him. Things were never good when names got pulled out in the open. Lifting her hand to her eyes, she touched her own face. No scars, no bandage, but her eyes were definitely open. She felt the tremor start in her fingertips and begin to creep up her arms. She dropped her hands, and clasped them tightly in her lap. "Spit it out, would you?" she finally managed to get the words formed without crying.

Lifeline stuttered for a few moments, grasping for the right way to put things. While he was figuring that out, a solid weight settled down near Nightshade's shoulder. He never touched her, but it didn't take long for her to figure out that Snake Eyes was present. Lowering her head, she let her hair fall forward, until she realized that it smelt of ozone and charred circuitry. Shaking back her hair again, she tried to track the sound of Lifeline's nervous pacing.

"I really was hoping this wouldn't happen. When they told me what happened..." Lifeline paused, in both speech and pacing. "I know, Snake Eyes." The nervousness faded right out of his tone then, and Lifeline approached the bed once more. His fingers were warm and smooth against her face. "Best I can tell, is that... you've just overloaded your optic nerves."

"Which means?" she prodded.

"Which means, I'm taking you to an neuro-ophthalmologist. Well, Cutter is really, but we're almost there. You just need to rest." Lifeline patted her shoulder. Momentarily, she turned to hear the sound of the door closing behind him. Snake Eyes remained where he had been seated on the edge of the bed, as Nightshade slowly put all the pieces together. _The rocking means a boat, which would end up being the W.H.A.L.E since Cutter's driving... I'm in that little room below the dash, on a fold-out._

The tremble had gotten up into her shoulders finally, and suddenly everything was shaking violently. Catching her breath, and holding it, helped Nightshade fight the urge to break down into tears. She couldn't think of much worse that she'd been through, and she had a sudden, terrifying vision of herself sitting on a street corner with her guitar and a sign: **Will play for Food**.

Just when she thought she was going to panic, Snake Eyes laid his hand on her arm. She swung wildly, turning her fear into aggression in the most natural manner. The ninja caught her wild fist with his other hand and simply remained. Wrenching her hand free, Nightshade growled under the breath. She would not cry; she had not cried since she was ten years old. No sense in breaking tradition.

* * *

"Optic neuritis." She tried the words on again. Her eyes were fucked up; that's what those two words meant. Inflammation of some nerve or another, up to twelve weeks of being blind. But at least she could still play. The guitar sat on her lap as she lazily strummed a few chords. She wanted to rip the stupid gauze off her eyes. On top of it all she'd stubbed her toe three times taking walks around her small bunk. She always forgot where she left her damned boots.

"Don't just sit there feeling sorry for yourself."

Nightshade stood up so quickly she nearly dumped her guitar on the floor. Catching the instrument by the neck, she growled out some choice Spanish profanities. From the door, Scarlett laughed softly.

"Easy there, tiger; we come bearing gifts." Scarlett let herself in, but Nightshade counted three other sets of boots. And then the smell hit her, sending her mouth in to overdrive. Scarlett began laughing as soon as the scent was recognized.

"Roadblock, _mi corazon! Empanadas y frijoles negros!_" she kept going in Spanish, apparently lauding Roadblock's cooking skills as she set her guitar carefully to one side.

Roadblock's distinctive deep laughter joined Scarlett's as he set the tray down on Nightshade's lap. "You gotta keep eatin', girl. Don't want you wastin' down to nothin'."

"You didn't join us at mess." Nightshade stopped eating with her mouth half full of meat pie. Hawk was here. She feared for a few moments that she was going to get disciplined for not saluting, or even standing when her CO entered. "We just wanted to make sure everything was good with you."

Her joy over the fine cuisine dampened, Nightshade sat quietly, her fingers wrapped protectively around the tray. "I'm not okay, Hawk," she finally muttered. "I'm blind. For the better part of three months. How can I possibly be okay?"

Hawk shifted nervously while Nightshade just shook her head. Reaching out a questing hand, she felt around for the small bunkside table. Mustering all her dignity, she slowly began to transfer the tray over. Roadblock moved in an attempt to help her, but was stopped, by a warning hand from Scarlett. It was long agonizing moments before the tray was seated firmly on the side table, but everyone figured Nightshade felt some sense of accomplishment.

Hawk gathered himself one final time, before clearing his throat. "Nights, I really think that its time you took some leave."

"_Madre Dios_," she sighed heavily. "I have no where to go. No home outside barracks, I have nothing."

"But you have friends," Scarlett protested, coming to sit down beside her. Nightshade didn't avoid it when the redhead took her hands. "Snake Eyes wants to take you up to his retreat. He feels responsible for what happened."

"He shouldn't. It was my own damned fault for looking around before the blasts had cleared." Nightshade crossed her arms, pulling her hands away from Scarlett. "Explain how I would be able to talk with the lug, _por favor_? Blind _chica_, mute _hombre_?" Nightshade laughed darkly. "Yeah, like that would work..."

"Look," Hawk spoke after a few moments of silence. "This is an order, soldier. You need some R&R, and outside of putting you in a convalescence home, sending you with Snake Eyes is the safest option." The corner of Nightshade's mouth twitched, as she began to tense up. Scarlett settled her arm around Nightshade's shoulders, and gently squeezed.

"With all due respect, sir." Nightshade removed Scarlett's hand by leaning forward and rolling her shoulder. "I think you're absolutely batshit crazy."

* * *

_How did I let them talk me into this?_ Nightshade couldn't stop herself from shaking in fear. Not just a blind jump, but a blind HALO jump strapped to the body of a man who couldn't warn her if something went wrong. _I'm the one who's batshit crazy._ She realized it with a jolt, as someone cinched a strap a little tighter. It was probably Stalker, as soon as she pictured his name, his face came into her mind's eye. Good ol' Stalker, always reliable when it came to security and safety.

Minutely, she felt better. She felt the heavy weight of the backup chute settle across her chest. A few more jerks on the straps, and Stalker's rough, callused hand took one of hers.

"This is the ripcord for the backup. Only pull it if you can't feel Snake Eyes anymore." He curled her fingers closed around the slim cord, making sure her thumb was threaded through the pull ring. Nightshade nodded, tucking her hands up beneath the backup. Stalker gently led her forward, while every fiber of her being wanted to scream and run. Stalker let go, and Snake Eyes' smooth, gloved hands took their place. He squeezed her hand once, before maneuvering her around until she stood with her back against his chest.

With Stalker's help, the straps that joined the two harnesses were tightened, snugging her securely up against the ninja. When she turned her head slightly, she could hear his steady heartbeat just behind her, the rhythm calm, assured and confident. Okay, she was feeling a little more at ease about this. Stalker's footsteps receded after he clasped them both on the shoulder. In the brief moment of silence that followed, Snake Eyes wrapped his arms around Nightshade's shoulders from behind; he lowered his head to press it against hers and he simply hugged her. She felt the tension drain right out of her, and he remained that way until the cargo doors were completely open, and all sound became the prolonged howl of the wind and engines.

* * *

After four difficult days, they had found a routine that worked. Nightshade learned her tentative way around the cabin, using both a solid oak walking stick and the aid of the wolf, Timber. For the first day, Snake Eyes had mostly left her alone, while Timber kept to her every movement. The wolf would gently push against her legs to move her, avoiding objects easily. She learned very quickly that there was very little inside the cabin, barely a table, a fireplace, and a bed. The first night, Snake Eyes had caught, and cooked, fresh salmon, a feast the sort Nightshade had never had. After eating, the ninja had slipped out once again, leaving Nightshade to sit lonely by the fire with Timber. She had fallen asleep using the wolf as a pillow, only to awaken the next morning alone, but moved to the bed.

The second and third days were much the same, while she explored the land closest to the cabin with Timber as her guardian. Snake Eyes seemed to drop by just at the right intervals, always bringing with him some manner of meat. More fish for breakfast, rabbits for lunch and dinner. Very quickly Nightshade began to realize that she was going to go crazy without some manner of interaction. The wolf could only get her so far, and there were obviously some things that Snake Eyes needed to hear aloud. At the end of the third night, she pretended to sleep.

Long after dark, when the warmth of the fire had banked, Snake Eyes sneaked back into the cabin. Finding Nightshade in her customary position, curled up with Timber, brought a smile painfully to his face. She was blind, he reminded himself as he knelt down beside her. She couldn't see his scarred and mutilated face. She wouldn't run from him in revulsion if he didn't wear some measure of a mask. He went to slide his arm beneath her shoulders, to carry her once more to bed, but she twisted and snatched a hold of his wrist before he realized she wasn't asleep.

Her eyes were open, her wildly dilated pupils telling him that she still couldn't see. His wrist was firmly in her grasp, even though he could easily break her hold if he'd wanted to. She looked relieved somehow, while her other hand reached out, searching blindly until he caught a hold of it with his other hand.

"You've been avoiding me," she started quietly. At the sound of her voice, Timber lifted her head to watch them carefully. "Snakes, this isn't your fault. I don't blame you. I don't blame anyone..." She lowered her face, feeling like his eyes were burning holes in her flesh suddenly. "I'm scared..."

* * *

A few more days passed, Snake Eyes finding that he could spend more and more time closer to the cabin. It got easier as the time moved on, mostly because Nightshade knew the value of silence. He always made sure to touch her in some way when he moved by, letting her know that he was still there. At times, he led her through walks in the forest, squeezing her hand to warn her of obstacles. She had no choice but to put her entire trust in him, a feat of Herculean personal strength, considering her troubled background. Whenever she stumbled, she found Snake Eyes at hand to steady her. Often times, he would lead her out to a small clearing, where she would sit motionless listening to him go through various martial arts forms. She was sitting at her customary place when she heard the first low rumble of thunder.

The mere motion of her head turning brought Snake Eyes' _kata_ to a standstill. Nightshade drew in a long deep breath, and smiled softly. "Thunderstorm," she whispered the word quietly, as though afraid to break the stillness of the air. A second rumble answered her soft word, as though Mother Nature were agreeing with her. Snake Eyes was at her side in an instant, taking a hold of her bicep, but letting her rise on her own. With a slight tug, he began to lead her back toward the cabin.

The skies opened up before they were even halfway back. Nightshade's reaction was instant. She released Snake Eyes arm, and turned her face toward the sky, smiling wide into the rain. Spreading her arms wide, she stood nearly motionless as the downpour hardened into sheets of torrential rain. In seconds the two of them were soaked to the skin. Nightshade's thick black curls lay plastered to her skin.

A bolt of lightning seared through the sky, illuminating the darkness with its savage, sudden brightness. Nightshade turned in the direction of the light. Then she began to laugh, softly, with a tone that bordered on hysterical. Snake Eyes grabbed her around the waist, hoisting her up over his shoulder into a modified fireman's carry. If she was starting to sense light, that meant her eyes were finally beginning to heal. He wasn't about to let her reinjure herself by allowing her to stare at lightning.

To her credit, Nightshade didn't protest being carried around. She lay limp across his shoulders as he jogged steadily for the cabin. He set her down once they were at the door, holding on to her for a few seconds too long, as she regained her own sense of balance. Inside, he stoked the fire; getting it crackling high wasn't a problem, the heat would drive out the damp chill. Thunder shook the cabin, rattling the windows in their moorings.

Snake Eyes snapped his fingers, bringing Nightshade's wandering attention back to him. Standing close, he tugged on the hem of her wet shirt. She caught his hand, and drew a long deep breath. She seemed about to speak, but instead, changed her mind, and moved carefully from the door, toward the small bed in the corner. She counted steps to herself, measuring the distance carefully so she wouldn't collide with anything. Turning his back to her, he began to strip himself out of the wet clothes.

He took his time, listening to the sounds of wet clothing hitting the floor behind him. Glancing at the calendar tacked by the door, he mentally calculated the amount of time they had left. His jaw tightened with the realization of just how short the days were. Drawing a breath to center himself, he turned slightly to glance at Nightshade.

Her back was turned to him. She had found a pair of basketball shorts in the duffel Scarlett had packed for her. Her lean back was bare as she hunched over something in her hands. Studying her, he noticed she bore a single tattoo, marked on her right shoulder blade. Written in letters three-inches high, and surrounded by a wreath of thorns, she was branded with "MS13". Tilting his head slightly, he padded up on barefeet behind her, and reached out to gently trace the tattoo with a fingertip.

Nightshade began to tremble the moment he touched her. Withdrawing his hand, Snake Eyes stepped back, allowing her to yank a teeshirt on over her head. She twisted her hair suddenly, wrapping it up into a knot at the base of her neck, before she turned to were she believed Snake Eyes was still standing.

Shaking her head, she slipped past him toward the fire. Timber stopped her before she could get too close to the hearth, and Nightshade lowered herself to the floor. The wolf took his customary spot to her left, and after a moment, Snake Eyes lowered himself down to her right. He reached out once more, touching the location of her tattoo, before taking her hand and squeezing.

"You're determined to make me tell," she knew it for a fact. "But I won't. It's ancient history. It's not part of me anymore." She stretched and leaned over Timber, finding the wolf's thick ruff with her fingers. "I've done everything I can to forget that part of my life. It's a reminder. Of what I can backslide into."

* * *

Some small part of Nightshade was disappointed that they would have to leave the quiet cabin retreat. She had grown so accustomed to the silence, and the easy comfort of living around Snake Eyes, returning to the bustle of the Pit felt like a death sentence. She pushed her sunglasses up a little further, and went so far as to shade her eyes with her hand. The sun still bothered her a little, but not nearly as much as it had at first. She peered through the light towards Snake Eyes, where he knelt with Timber's head firmly between his hands. She watched the interplay of man and wolf, wondering just what facial expressions were passing beneath the emotionless mask.

Both Scarlett and Stalker had warned her. Hinting at how badly disfigured his face was beneath the mask. Burns, they had mentioned quietly, that had never been given the chance to heal properly. Snake Eyes ruffled Timber's fur one last time, and sent the wolf off into the wilderness once more. He turned, shouldering his duffel bag. There was a moment of speculative silence, as they regarded one another.

Nightshade rubbed her right shoulder self-consciously. He approached, and laid his hand there, stopping her motion. She shifted slightly, pulling her hand out from beneath his. "Hold on, you're a little untucked." She caught the collar of his flannel shirt between her fingers, and gently tucked the edge of his latex mask beneath the cloth. Smoothing out his collar once more, she smiled, melancholy to be leaving.

Together, they turned and began the descent to the logging camp further down the mountain. They hiked side by side, though Nightshade no longer needed the guidance of a hand to avoid obstacles in her path. The silence, always steady, grew between them as she contemplated how best to speak up.

"Mara Salvatrucha." She finally said, causing Snake Eyes to stop in his tracks. "Is a Hispanic gang in L.A. I went through hazing when I was 12. Joined the Army at 18, to get away from them." She sighed, and paused, waiting for Snake Eyes to rejoin her. "I did a lot of things that I ain't proud of..." She trailed off, closing her eyes behind her sunglasses.

Snake Eyes regarded her coolly for a few moments, before he gave her a thumbs up sign. As though that would make everything kosher. She raised her eyes over the sunglasses, and simply stared at him for a few long moments. Then she laughed. "Lets go, Snakes. We got a world to save." As one, they started moving down the mountain once more. After a few moments of treading lightly, Nightshade let a branch go early, so it swung toward Snake Eyes head. He ducked it easily, reflexes honed from decades of service. She laughed, sliding a few feet down the steep incline, before breaking into a headlong sprint down the mountainside.

Snake Eyes held back for a moment, giving her head start. Her laughter echoed through the forest, giving him a measure of peace. So long as she was a Joe, she was safe.

* * *

Author's Note: This is based off an ages-old RP I did with a couple of online-buddies of mine. Their names are lost to me forever, because this occurred over a decade-and-a-half ago, but I found enough of the snippets to cobble together this exercise. I'm frustrated with my Snake Eyes portrayal right now, and I need to work more on his characterization in my style. This is what I get for waiting so many years after I designed this quasi-AU to actually sit down and write anything. Shame on Me.


	3. Rescue

Rescue

_A Nightshade Vignette_

"Don't stop her," Hawk's low voice cut across the airstrip, halting five Joes in their tracks instantly. A few of them turned to look back at the C.O., while the others stared at the retreating back of the woman in question.

Flint gaped as Nightshade grabbed a rail, and ascended a ladder into one of the just-landed jets. Pointing, he turned back toward Hawk. "But she hasn't-"

"She's been trained." Hawk's eyes were shadowed by the rim of his helmet, the expression on his face unreadable. "She'll be fine."

Flint turned back toward the SkyStriker as the turbine engines whined to a fever pitch. It slowly began to rotate, turning along the deck of the U.S.S. Flagg. His mouth opened again to protest, but he found his audience has dwindled. Lady Jaye, Scarlett, Dial-Tone, and Ace had all turned toward Hawk. Scarlett was worrying her lower lip, trying to find the right words to express herself.

Lady Jaye took care of that for her. "If anyone has a snowball's chance in Hell of getting Snakes out of that shitstorm... it's her." Scarlett nodded slowly, reluctant to admit that fact. After a moment, Hawk laid his hand on her shoulder.

"I understand." It was all he had to say. Scarlett shook with the urge to knock his hand away; she knew he really didn't understand. Snake Eyes was like a brother to her, yet she was letting another person run off to rescue him.

* * *

They let her go? Nightshade's anger had waned since the Skystriker took to the air. As the haze of red fury continued to recede, she realized that she hadn't made the smartest move. Taking stock of her situation, she noticed the jet's full fuel tank, but only partially loaded weapons. As for herself, she only had what she had been carrying when the news came down to her: nothing more than a survival knife, and a few flash-bang grenades.

Glad that the flight lessons from her recent training were so fresh in her memory, Nightshade had no problem tracking down the last coordinates for a landing. Peru, just along the coastline. The cockpit's telemetry even had coordinates for the two nearest villages, and the oil rig platform the other Joes had just recently saved from demolition. No indication where the guerrilla encampment was though. She had plenty of time to think about her approach, and him...

So, her military career was probably over because of this infraction. But, a life in exchange for a life was worth it. Less than eight months ago, she wouldn't have had the same thought, but the Joes had embraced her and accepted her no matter her eccentricities. Snake Eyes even knew about her past surviving in the Los Angeles ganglands; the crimes she'd committed meant nothing to him. She was just another Joe. She'd be damned to hell if she let him rot in some Peruvian hideaway.

With the scream of the jet engines and the vibration of the cockpit, it was hard to focus. Nightshade needed to center herself, and find the outlet for her anger. She'd learned a lot just from watching Snake Eyes, and even more after he'd caught her trying to meditate. It still caused amusement among the ranks: a Hispanic ninja. Nightshade found herself smiling at that thought, and her focus slipped into place.

* * *

**South of Piura, Peru.**

There wasn't much she could do to camouflage the Skystriker in the arid desert-like projection of land. Just the classic net, and a few prayers that the jet wouldn't be sabotaged by the time she made her way back to it. The sun was already touching the rim of the Pacific Ocean, setting both water and sky to fire. From there, she was ready to set out, letting her gaze sweep the slopes of the Andes mountains, rising steadily to her east. She had to trust her instinct, and it was telling her to climb.

Suddenly thankful for the hours upon hours of endurance training she had undertaken since joining the Joes, Nightshade fell into an easy rhythm of a jog, one that would hopefully eat up the distance. She jogged until the grade of the slope became too steep to easily take at any speed. Slowed to a steady climb, she slipped the knife out of its sheath, and clenched it between her teeth. The trees and the undergrowth grew thicker and thicker, until silent going was nearly made impossible.

As she rose higher into the mountains, her breathing became harder. Her mind scattered as she realized the air was thinning; that it was impossible anyone would care to live up this high. She was certain, if she kept her winding way upwards, she would soon be able to see the Brazilian rainforest spread below the Andes. Abruptly she stopped, taking shelter against a tree trunk for a few moments.

This was ridiculous, stupid, and completely impulsive. Without a clue where she was going or what she was looking for, she had made herself another liability for the Joe team. Anxiety gnawed at her stomach, almost turning her inside out. She felt like a child again, hiding from the Havana Grande boys, while Eric fought, knee deep in gore. Shivering inside her memories, Nightshade struggled to find her center, wishing fervently for the heavy pressure of Snake Eyes' hands against her shoulders. How had she failed to realize how heavily she depended on his silent presence? Beside that, why couldn't she just have faith in his abilities to get himself out of situations he had put himself into?

Wracked with so many unfamiliar doubts, Nightshade found herself paralyzed for the first time, uncertain of what to do or where to go next. Thankfully the rest of the world had other plans for her. While she sat in silence, the sharp report of gunfire suddenly broke the evening air. Something in Nightshade's mind clicked into place, and suddenly, her whole body was on high alert. Her nerves tingling, she adjusted her position, getting her feet back beneath her. Quiet, she waited. Sure enough, there was a second smattering of gunfire, this time, a semi-automatic burst. The sound was close, but oddly muffled, like she was hearing an echo of an echo.

Creeping again, Nightshade struck out, her purpose crystallized by the weapon's fire. Soon enough, she found herself at the bottom of a ridge, looking up at what appeared to be a small encampment situated at the top. Silhouetted by the setting sun, the layout was close and compact, a cluster of six shabby buildings, with a few beat up trucks parked at the edges. The cooling night air brought to her snatches of Spanish, men arguing. One key phrase that kept being repeated was the "Black Devil." Smiling to herself, Nightshade could only assume they meant Snake Eyes.

But why the gunfire? Who or what was it directed at? She pondered that and waited, listening carefully to whatever smattering of conversations she could pick up. After a while, she felt bold enough to shimmy up into a tree. Moving as soundlessly as she could, the cover of night served her well. As darkness began to deepen, kerosene lamps began to fire up around the camp. Her eyes, still sensitive to light, ached as she tried to pick out figures moving among the buildings.

Her plan congealed close to midnight, when the majority of lights where snuffed across the camp. Jumping down from the tree, she landed with a soft thud. Freezing for a moment, she listened to the quiet breathing of the woods. There were all sorts of nasty things that could come out at night around here. High school geography seemed so far away, but didn't Peru sport a large population of jaguars? Her lips tightened. Slowly, she began to circle around, sliding up through the darkness like a ghost. She counted off paces to where a pair of trucks were parked, and slipped between them. Counting again, she ticked off twenty seconds, until a patrolman came circling around the hood of the blue truck.

Nightshade pounced. One arm snaked deftly around the patrol's shoulders, grabbing his face with her gloved hand. The other drove the knife deep into his back, sliding between ribs to sever a major artery. She held onto him as he died in her arms, before dragging him back between the trucks. Depositing his body beneath the red truck, she recovered his hat and his gun, checking for extra rounds. After a few moments, she wrestled the corpse out of his jacket. More cover for her.

Fingering the bloody hole in the back, she grimaced, and pulled it on over her own togs. Cramming the hat down low on her head, she rose from between the cars, and began to meander serenely around the encampment. She let her eyes flow around, marking where she believed the barracks were, their mess hall. She couldn't help but chuckle to notice the guerrillas even had their own stage and dance floor cleared out of the forest. Grudgingly they got props for originality.

As she rounded another building, she caught sight of a second patrolman coming her way. Sliding the rifle around her back, she made sure both her arms were free, keeping the knife in her right hand, blade angled upward so her forearm hid it. The approaching guerrilla didn't salute, but he waved however. She returned the action with her left hand, even offering a grin as the man drew up beside her. Surprise and shock registered across his face as he realized she wasn't who he thought. Before he could get a sound out, she was on top of him, bearing him down to the ground in a quick tackle. Her hand scrambled to wrap around his mouth, and she let him feel the sharp edge of the blade against his neck.

"Tell me where the Black Devil is." She demanded, making her words slow and deliberate. She repeated again in Spanish, just in case the man was as uncultured as his appearance suggested. When he didn't immediately respond, Nightshade leaned a little further forward, pressing the blade a little tighter. Her hand still covered his mouth, but suddenly, his eyes broke away, darting hard to the left before resuming their panicked stare up at her.

Nightshade smiled sweetly. A direction was good enough for her. Removing the knife from his neck, she tossed it into the air. The guerrilla's gaze followed the arc of the metal. As the weapon fell back down toward earth, Nightshade snatched it from the air, and brought the pommel down hard on the man's temple. For a brief moment, only white showed in his eyes, as he slumped into unconsciousness. Grumbling quietly to herself, she gagged and bound him with his own jacket, throwing him into the woods unceremoniously.

So, left he said, and left she would go. Squaring her shoulders, she strode purposefully out into the middle of the guerrilla encampment. She moved like she belonged there, confidence oozing off her like slime. She had to make it as far across the center yard as she possibly could before getting spotted, or questioned. Of the three buildings on the far end of the camp, only two had guards. One she assumed had to be the prison, while the other was probably their generalissimo's quarters. A bunch of once wild pigs snored and whined in their sleep beneath the porch of the third building. She slowed her approach slightly at the four guards took notice of her.

Indecision grappled her for a few moments, while she struggled with her next action. She had a fifty-fifty chance of being wrong and blowing the element of surprise. Her eyes swept each building for some indication of what could be inside which one. Finally, a flash of fabric caught her eye, as curtains wobbled in the window. Relief flooded her stomach, and threatened to break out into a grin, no prison in their right minds would put curtains in the windows! Turning to the other building with purpose, she strode up the stairs, hoping the dim light would make her blend in.

"Let me in."

"But, _senorita_," the guard started to protest, only to be cut off by a sharp movement from Nightshade.

"Are you going to deny me the chance to look in the eyes, the demon who killed my husband?" She silently cheered herself at her ingenuity. _Way to think on your feet, Cassie!_ She scowled like a woman scorned, and crossed her hands over the jacket. "Let me in now, or I will gut you both like the spineless fish you are..."

That final threat did the job. With a click, one of the guards opened the door for her, while the other moved in to follow. She held her hand up, palm out, making him stop. With another glare, she put him in his place, forcing him to freeze in mortal fear as she stepped into the prison building, closing the door quietly behind her. For a few moments, she stood in the darkness; she was thankful that her eyes were so sensitive to light; they gave her an edge operating at night.

It only took a moment to survey the room. At the table by the door, her fingers found the soft, breathable fabric of Snake Eyes' uniform. Feeling her heart lurch, she steadied herself with the wall, taking a deep breath. Across the room, his form was slumped over, head hanging. His arms were bound and stretched behind him, chained to a single eyehook on the wall. His ankles too were chained to the wall. No doubt he had killed many of the guerrillas before being taken like this. Even one ninja could be overwhelmed.

Nightshade didn't know what to expect. He was unmasked. Stalker and Scarlett's warnings came back to her full force now. Burns. Scars. There was a small movement from him, a slight twist of his shoulders that told her he knew she was coming. She knelt down slowly beside him, and focused on his manacles. Saying nothing, she could feel the tension in his body as her fingers danced around his wrists. She didn't have time to overthink anything; the cuffs were old, and shabbily made.

Snake Eyes moved so his shoulder touched hers. There wasn't enough time to pick the locks, Nightshade was aware of that. So instead, she wedged her knife into one of the links, and twisted, hard. The old metal gave way slowly, but she pried the link open, both freeing Snakes' arms, and giving him a weapon. Once released, he twisted in a smooth, fluid motion to face the wall. His own strength and leverage was enough this time, to break the ankle chains.

Rolling to his feet, Snake Eyes avoided looking at her, but she wouldn't have any part of that. Before he could cross the room to his uniform, she grabbed his arm tightly.

"Look at me," she whispered, as he kept his back turned. Her eyes tracked the network of scars that riddled his torso and back. "Damn you, Snakes. Look at me."

Even as he did so, he kept his face angled down, pointed away from her as much as he could. She didn't let that fly, stepping forward and around him to get her first good look at his face. The silence was broken by a hesitant knock at the door, and one of the guards calling softly to see if she were alright. Nightshade locked gazes with Snake Eyes for thirty seconds, and nodded. She turned away, grabbing his shirt and mask from the table and throwing them to him in one smooth motion.

"Aye," she called back, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "_Si, senor_, very well." A light touch at her waist brought her attention back to her companion. He'd lifted the knife from her belt and held it at the ready. He pointed left, and nodded. She mimicked his motion, but to the right.

Reaching forward, Snake Eyes opened the door, and allowed it to swing inward. The door masked his body, leaving only Nightshade to motion the guards in. She chattered with them in Spanish for a moment, until both guards were inside the building. Snake Eyes shut the door behind the second guard, and had quartered him before either knew what was happening. Nightshade slammed the heel of her palm into the first guard's nose, crumpling him to the ground in a bloody mess. For a heartbeat, Snake Eyes seemed to sag, but he pressed himself against the door to hide it.

Nightshade rifled through the two men's pockets, kicking her bloody victim once in the ribs when he protested. Finding a ring of keys, she moved back over to Snake Eyes side and dropped to her knees. After a few faulty keys, she found the one that opened the shackles. Keeping his back tight to the wall, Snake Eyes held out his wrists for the other two. Nightshade caught each manacle before it clattered, and placed them neatly on the side table. As she turned, intent to gather the guards weapons, Snake Eyes grabbed her from behind, one arm wrapped around her neck, and pulled her back toward him in a sudden, fierce hug.

She knew the move. Closing her eyes, to pretend she was blind again, even just for a moment, made the action all the more bittersweet. He was asking her to have faith, to trust him. Did he even have a clue how hard his request was? She barely shook herself free from his grip before the fun outside began. Apparently the two missing guards had been noticed, and a vocal warning was being called through the camp.

"Time to say _adios_," Nightshade mused, taking her attention off her companion. She hefted the Columbian make rifles all the guerrilla's seemed to sport, and tossed it to Snake Eyes. With only a nod, he agreed, and together the two of them burst out the door. The chaos began immediately. Gunfire in the night, the darkness exploding with muzzle flash, and tracer rounds alike. Snake Eyes moved like the demon they had nicknamed him for, laying men low in a hail of gunfire.

"The weapon dump!" Nightshade called his attention to the shack with her cry. It was the distraction they'd been needing. Altering course by mere degrees, the two of them ran for the building. Crates of ammunition greeted them as a kick from Snake Eyes shattered the door. Nightshade swore softly in Spanish as the painted insignia of the hooded snake became visible. She spat another loud curse as Snake Eyes shoved the second rifle at her, freeing up one of his hands.

She took up position by the door as he began to rummage. While she squinted and fought to protect her eyes against the weapon flash, Snake Eyes knocked down a second piece of wall sheeting. The noise caught Nightshade's attention. Lurching to her feet, she ditched one rifle, and joined him at the back. In his hand was an old M80, the pin already discarded. He gave her a shove, pushing her out the hole, and then he followed behind her. Pausing just for a moment to lob the grenade back into the munitions dump, Snake Eyes turned, and didn't look back.

Nightshade did. Her mind was already turning. First a Cambodian drug cartel is witnessed having a business deal with Destro, and now, Peruvian guerrilla fighters end up with crates full of Cobra weaponry. Something bigger was going on here... She'd just have to figure out what it was before someone decided to court martial her.


	4. The Day is Done

**The Day is Done**

**A Snake Eyes Vignette**

The building smelled of death. Not the good kind of death either; not the soldier's death, the front lines of battle, reeking of cordite and gun oil. This was the type of death that lingered, sickly sweet, an illness sitting at the bedside, just waiting to strike down the defenseless, the helpless. As far as Veteran's Hospitals went, this one was silent as a tomb. It had as much to do with the nature of the main occupants as it did with the five men and women seated along one particular hallway.

Flint and Lady Jaye sat with their heads close together. Their hands were curled together, each trying vainly to seek comfort in the grip of the other. Across the wall from them stood Duke, tall and silent; his face a grim mask to hide the inner torment he faced. Beside him, never touching but close enough to do so should she need to, was Scarlett. Her eyes remained focused on the floor before her. Between her and Snake Eyes, lay a single door. A small plastic box beside it read: _Room 305. Joseph Colton. Gen._

Snake Eyes watched the others more than anything else. They all battled their demons separately, even those who were openly 'together'. He imagined that his own demons were like the others, simply more disciplined. Cancer was an insidious foe. It was not fitting for a warrior such as General Colton to go out like this. Colton was the original, the first of their kind. He was where their unit drew its name from. He was supposed to be invincible, immortal. But beyond that door, he lay, struggling for breath, fighting for his very life... against his own body.

The harsh taste of mortality soured in Snake Eyes' mouth. Cancer was not a foe he would wish even on his greatest enemy.

Lady Jaye sniffled, and valiantly tried to hide her tears. Flint released her hand, to slide an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. Something inside Snake Eyes rang hollow and empty at the gesture. His hands itched to move, to rub his mask, to tighten into fists, but his ironclad willpower won the battle. Those hands that had brought down legions lay loose, lax at his sides. Jaye's noise brought a slight shift among the other two as well.

Scarlett's eyes lifted up from the floor, looking first to her friend in distress, then flickering down the hallway to where Snake Eyes stood rock solid against the wall. He didn't indicate that he saw her eyes filled with need of friendship, of support. Something small and angry gnawed at the pit of his stomach. He knew the feelings: insecurity, fear. And just like every other time in his life they surfaced, he squelched them, pushing them back and holding them down with decades of training. Scarlett was his friend, his former lover. He would join her in any battle she wished, but he still could not bring himself to help her fight emotionally.

Snake Eyes didn't even flinch when Duke's hand casually flicked out, brushing against Scarlett's as he pushed away from the wall, to being pacing the short length of hallway they had staked out. Scarlett's gaze flickered toward Duke, and Snake Eyes watched a warm light grow in her green eyes. That had been his once; he convinced himself he was happy for her.

The silence grew, punctuated only by the steady clop of Duke's boots against the tiled floor. The tension grew as well, the world slowly began to feel the weight of this moment. The click of the doorknob heralded the arrival of the nurse. She stepped out and looked around. What she must have seen: five soldiers in various states of uniforms all staring at her, hinged on her every motion. Her wide eyes blinked twice, and she finally nodded to Duke. Stepping slightly to one side, she allowed Duke and Scarlett entry, but when Lady Jaye rose to join them, the nurse shook her head, holding up her hand. The message was clear. Limited visitors. Snake Eyes settled back against the wall, letting his chin drop to his chest. His time would come.

The world turns much slower when you are waiting for something to happen. Time seemed to crawl by for Snake Eyes as eventually Duke and Scarlett slipped out of Colton's room, to allow Jaye and Flint inside. Scarlett's green eyes were red-rimmed, puffy. She had been crying. Duke hovered protectively nearby, as they took the seats vacated by the others. Scarlett wrung her hands together, and rocked slightly. Behind his visor, Snake Eyes closed his eyes. He summoned up from his eternal well of patience a good stretch more. But he found himself wearing thin; it was hard to scrape together the vestiges of his strength.

The waiting was taxing. But the relief felt when Jaye and Flint slipped out of the room far outweighed the stress. Flint clapped Snake Eyes on the shoulder as they passed. They had all been close to Colton at one point or another in their careers. As the door shut behind Snake Eyes, he began to wish he'd never come. The room was dominated by a machine that helped breathe for Colton. The man, once a giant, always fit, even into his sixties, was a shadow of the man he'd once been.

A thin, almost skeletal hand lay atop crisp white sheets. An oxygen mask lay fitted over his nose and mouth. To see such a great man, a great soldier, betrayed by his own body, was nearly enough to break Snake Eyes of his resolve. Colton's eyes were closed, that much he was grateful for. How would he have reacted if the man had looked his way. Would the knot of grief that was beginning to well up inside him have won out? In the beginning, before the explosion had robbed Snake Eyes of his face, his voice, Colton had told him he had the makings of greatness. It was men like Colton that had caused Snake Eyes to join the Army in the first place.

Snake Eyes brushed gloved fingers against the bone-thin arm of the father of the G.I. Joe unit. The touch caused Colton's eyes to open. Those gray eyes connected for a second. Beneath the oxygen mask, Colton's thin cracked lips formed a single word. _Son._ Snake Eyes looked away abruptly. He was being asked something, those pain-filled eyes were begging him. No wonder Scarlett had left here crying. No wonder Flint and Duke looked so spooked. Colton had asked them the same question he was asking Snake Eyes.

_Kill me?_

Snake Eyes looked to the window, to the brilliance of life outside these walls. He turned to the machine, his gaze unseen behind the visor as it slipped along the lines of the power cord running behind the bed. Colton's eyes cleared, holding nothing but joy as the black clad ninja knelt beside the socket. Snake Eyes turned back to Colton, to be sure this was what the old soldier wanted. After a moment, Snake Eyes casually unplugged the apparatus. He paused only once on his way to the door, to receive a silent thank you from the ailing man in the bed. In response, Snake Eyes saluted smartly, and slipped out the door.

He began walking. Scarlett looked up from the phone at the nurse's desk as he moved silently by. She seemed in an urgent call with someone. Snake Eyes hoped it was her sister; he hoped she was affirming life. He had reached the stairwell when the first sounds of panic had started among the nurses and doctors. He looked back for a second, watching the white coats swarm like locusts around Colton's room. Jaye sobbed heavily into Flint's chest. Duke struggled to hold back his own emotions. Scarlett slumped over the counter, the phone hanging from her fingers as reality struck home. By the time the doctors conceded defeat, Snake Eyes was gone.

* ~ *

Scarlett had done all that she could. She made the call. Calling in a favor hadn't worked; they had never always seen eye-to-eye on some things. Bu Scarlett knew Snake Eyes better than he knew himself at times, and she could see just what, just who, he needed to be around right now. And when Nightshade was feeling particularly truculent, it was difficult to reason with her. Scarlett had to resort to issuing an order.

She became dimly aware of a crash cart being wheeled by, of the presence of Colton's wife, the former combat medic known as Nurse Jane. The more she saw as she returned the phone to it's cradle, the less good was going to come of the evening. Lady Jaye and Flint were practically pinned against a wall, trying to stay out of the way of the Veteran's Association staff, the nurses and doctors assigned to Colton's care, and the various paraphernalia they brought with them. Scarlett felt a presence by her side.

Raising her hand defensively, she reacted without thinking. Duke caught the fist, and used her momentum to turn her around. Suddenly, she was caught in the grip of a crushing hug. She felt tears gather in her eyes, as she watched the commotion in the room over his shoulder. Doctors did a lot of shouting, the nurses did lots of running, but Duke remained her rock solid foundation as she began to realize what many of the others already knew.

They'd be bidding the four-star general, the original G.I Joe, one of the greatest soldiers that this country had ever seen... good-bye before the hour struck.

* ~ *

Snake Eyes knew they wouldn't be getting to leave any time soon. The Joes would show their support and solidarity to Jane Colton, helping her set up whatever memorial she desired for Joseph. He had plenty of time to shake the vestiges of doubt that plagued his choice. The veteran's park just outside the hospital was an ideal location. There was a small natural pond, and the sound of running water had always proven to calm him. How many of the Joes would laugh to see him in such a predicament, struggling to find balance when the whole world has been thrown off kilter?

Hours had passed since Snake Eyes pulled the plug in Colton's room. From his vantage point out in the lightly wooded park, he could see the light still burning in the window. He wasn't worried about being left behind. Instead, the silent glares, and the unspoken questions already weighed heavily on his heart. For a man who made killing his living, the merciful aid he'd given Colton felt like it could destroy him.

Snake Eyes resettled himself on the banks of the small pond. Meditation wasn't coming easily. Too many thoughts whirled around inside his head. With a sigh, he tipped his head back against the tree, allowing his eyes to close. All he needed to do was to stop thinking for more than a few seconds. Unfortunately, the thoughts kept swirling. Starting to feel the beginnings to a disgruntled mood starting, Snake Eyes made to rise to his feet. Something however made him pause.

The crackle of a leaf. The snap of a twig. There was someone else out here. He slid slowly into a defensive stance, his hands up and ready, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet. Everything else seemed to fade into the background as he prepared for whatever else was out there. Worst-case-scenarios flirted at the edges of his thoughts, but nothing could prepare him for the truth. He stared in shock as the gaps between the leaves revealed Nightshade among the trees.

Without thinking, he pushed past a bush, making enough noise to attract her attention. The questions came back with ferocity, but changed. What was she doing here? Wasn't she supposed to be guarding a VIP in California? She turned toward him, dropping her guard instantaneously when he came into view. For a moment, uncertainty flickered across her features. Snake Eyes understood. The last time they had been alone, together, was Peru. She had seen the ruined mess that was his face. They had seemed to avoid each other since.

They stopped and regarded each other, nearly five feet apart. Snake Eyes wanted to will his hands to move, to ask her. _What are you doing here?_ But he found himself paralyzed. The gnawing emptiness in the pit of his stomach was back, the gross uncertainty of what the future would hold suddenly looming before him in full life. Nightshade moved first. He could always trust her to make the headstrong choice; what she lacked in discipline, she made up for in spades of passion.

She stepped closer, within the radius that Snake Eyes considered personal space. She'd been within that space a few times, mostly when her eyes had betrayed her, when the darkness came to blot out her sight. With a momentary pause, a seconds hesitation, she reached up, her fingertips brushing lightly across the fabric of his mask.

Snake Eyes realized with a start that what she touched was wet. Tears. How long had he been crying? How long had it been since he'd cried last? He couldn't remember. The revelation rocked him on his feet. Nightshade caught his hand as he moved to cover his mask. She didn't speak for once. The Latina who always had an opinion to share remained quiet and respectful. Instead, she simply shook her head slightly. It was all he needed. Closing the final distance between them, Snake Eyes lowered his head until his forehead rested on her shoulder.

She held his hands, and let him lean upon her as someone in the Veteran's Building behind them began to sound Taps.


	5. Memorial Day

**Memorial Day**

_Nightshade_

Hundreds of thousands of simple white stones, lined up in perfect rows, following the swell and fall of the gentle rolling hills. Soldiers is life, soldiers in death. On this day, like on so many others, the rows are still and silent, quiet reminders of the cost of American freedom. Ask any soldier anywhere, and they will invariably tell that Arlington National Cemetery is sacred ground, a most holy place, even for those who do not believe in any god.

If Arlington is sacred ground, than this day is made of sanctified hours. Elsewhere in the city, a parade marks the day, showing thanks from the country to the soldiers who fight for her safety. Of all the holidays, Memorial Day has resisted the tide of consumerism that has sucked the meaning from all the others. If anything, it is the opposite that is true. The ongoing war pushed the meaning home; the hundreds of new markers, fresh in Arlington soil, drive the price of freedom harder home into the hearts of the people.

Already they have had their hands shaken a hundred times. Already grateful families have spontaneously embraced them. Even a simple stop for coffee delayed them almost an hour. But none of them minded; they needed the human contact as much as the civilians did. They looked sharp and clean in their Class A's, sunglasses on like a bunch of superstars. They sat quietly in the car long after it had pulled to a stop outside Arlington's gates.

Each of them was lost in his or her own thoughts. Stalker stared out the window at the neat rows, stretching long into the distance, and wondered silently when his name would be added to the ranks of perfect white stones. Scarlett thought only of her comrades, of Duke, and the strength of their unit, of how they were always able to overcome, always able to find a way to win. Snake Eyes looked upon the engraved crosses and saw only all that he'd lost: mother, father, twin sister, the one he felt as a brother toward, his friends, his brothers-in-arms. It wasn't until he looked beside him, that he felt there was still so much to lose. Nightshade was nervous, dwarfed by all of this, honored that her friends would see fit to include her in their yearly ritual, awed by the sheer number of tombstones that lined the grass. Would she eventually become one of these faceless thousands? Or would she, like her own brother, end up lost in the sands?

It was finally Stalker who moved, snapping open his door and breaking everyone from their thoughts. They moved as one being, bare seconds separating the sound of closing doors as it echoed over the Cemetery. Nightshade hesitated, waiting to take cues from the others. No one had spoke since they left the ceremony at the Capitol Building. Scarlett and Snake Eyes came around the car to flank them on the driver's side. After a few moments of gathering themselves, Stalker nodded, and struck out toward the gates. Nightshade brought up the rear, pausing for a moment before crossing the gate, to cross herself, and whisper a quiet prayer for the departed. After, she hurried for a moment to catch up.

Stalker knew exactly where he was going. He moved without hesitation, without worry; his confidence was born of hundreds of times walking this same path. Scarlett followed, the heels of her officer's uniform seeming not to impede her movement. Nightshade trailed behind Snake Eyes, worrying her lower lip as she watched the smooth-topped tombstones move past. She was still trying to figure out why they'd brought her, why Scarlett had gone to so much trouble to find her during the speeches. Glancing up, she saw that Snake Eyes had paused at the crest of a small hill, waiting patiently for her.

A small lump formed at the back of her throat. She knew what was beneath that mask, crafted so carefully to look like a regular face. She had seen him, and it had changed the dynamic between them ever so slightly. He kept his fists balled loosely at his sides, but he waited for her to join him. She went to head down the other side, to join Stalker and Scarlett where they stood among a dozen or so tombstones, but he stopped her with a quick hand. She opened her mouth to ask him what he wanted, but found her voice stall in her throat. The sanctity of this place, the silence of this cemetery, even with all the other people walking through it, with the sounds of tears on the air, speaking something so trite seemed... wrong.

For what seemed like a long time, they just looked at one another. Nightshade wished she could see what was going on in his eyes, hidden behind the dark sunglasses. That was something she remembered, amid the ruined scarring of his face, how blue his eyes were. She bit her lower lip, and dropped her eyes, unable to to fully face the memory. Snake Eyes seemed to understand, he turned slightly, and their was a momentary pressure of his hand against the small of her back. _Just like when I was blind_, she realized.

They joined with Scarlett and Stalker who were both standing before a row of stones, with their heads bowed. Nightshade studied them, while Snake Eyes moved forward to kneel beside one, bowing his head as well. There were perhaps a dozen or so stones that the three devoted their attentions to. A few in particular captured each of their attentions. The names alone engraved on the stones meant little to Nightshade, but the evidence of who they had been soon became apparent. Each stone had a special forces insignia upon it., a stylized American flag emblazoned beside whatever medals they had won in life. Nightshade swallowed hard.

They'd all been Joes. Brothers-in-Arms that have been lost in the line of duty. She looked at the names as though she could commit them to memory. But she didn't have to. Stalker stood beside her and quietly named each and every one of them. They had been Joes she'd heard stories about. Breaker. Doc. Heavy Duty. Quick Kick. Heavy Metal. The names seemed to go on forever, each one recited with a quiet mantra. Stalker's eyes swam with tears as he named them all.

Nightshade didn't hesitate, she acted without thought or care. She reached out, and grabbed Stalker's shoulders, pulling him down into a fierce hug that spoke volumes. She understood. If anything were to happen to the three of them, they wanted her to come here each year and say _thank you_. They wanted the ritual preserved. Even as she hugged Stalker, he reached out and caught Scarlett. The red-head joined the enveloping hug with fervor, squeezing so hard Nightshade believed she couldn't breathe.

Then as quickly as it happened, the hug broke up. Scarlett drew away, with Stalker to stand near the tombstone that had been identified as belonging to Breaker. Nightshade straightened herself out, and looked around. Snake Eyes was a few rows off, staring down at a freshly turned gravesite. Flowers rested beside the tombstone, lilacs, roses and honeysuckle. Nightshade whispered his name as she drew near, wary of startling him. Even thought Snake Eyes didn't look up, she knew he was aware of her. There wasn't anything to say. He was standing before the grave of General Joseph Colton.

Nightshade brought herself to attention, and offered a salute to the famous general. She offered Snake Eyes a small smile when he glanced in her direction. His gloved hand sought out hers, and for a few moments their fingers entwined. Nightshade looked up from the single tombstone, to survey the thousands. Somewhere up the hills, a bugler lifted his horn and began to play.

The words of a once read poem leaped to Nightshade's mind. As she felt the presence of Stalker and Scarlett join them before Colton's grave, she found courage to speak the words.

"The bloodied sun sinks in the west... And lights us all with glory; Here sleep the brave in honored rest... the bugler tells their story... oh it is sweet and fitting to die for one's country."


	6. The Desert Is Wide

**The Desert is Wide**

_A Nightshade Story_

It was sand. And nothing but sand. As far as the eye could see. How Dusty could wax poetic and even stand to move around in this oppressive heat was far beyond anything Nightshade could fathom. She had even gone so far as to trade in her blacks for some desert camo, wrapping her hair up away from her neck. The mission itself was a wash anyway. The tiny country of Azul had already been overrun and swallowed by Saudi Arabia; its leaders were most likely dead and buried.

But here they were anyway following Dusty's lead through the desert. Nightshade held on in the back of the Desert Fox, one hand wrapped around the roll bar while the vehicle followed the rise and fall of the dunes. She tried very hard not to think at all. Scarlett sat beside her, alternately watching the desert and checking on Nightshade. Meanwhile, Flint was behind the wheel, while Dial-Tone relayed the directions from Dusty's scouting up ahead. Nightshade was a hundred miles away, but at least she was still watching her rear points as she had been trained.

This was the place after all.

Eric's last known whereabouts had been Saudi Arabia. She kept seeing her brother's wrapped body thrown into a mass grave, afforded no final rites, and offered no mourning. How horrible it would be to die in this expansive wasteland...

Sweat began to dribble into her eyes, behind her sunglasses. Wiping them required exposing her to the blazing sun, so Nightshade glanced around. It was nearing midday; Dusty should be finding some sort of shelter for a siesta any time now. The four hours in the middle of the day were the worst, both heat and dehydration-wise. Just as Nightshade thought of it, Scarlett held out the canteen they'd been sharing. Accepting it with a grateful nod, Nightshade took only a mouthful before handing it back.

"You okay?" Scarlett asked quietly. When Nightshade automatically nodded, Scarlett frowned. Neither Nightshade, nor Snake Eyes had ever indicated what happened in Peru, but something was definitely strained between them. Scarlett would get to the bottom of it eventually. But not until Nightshade was willing to talk.

Dial-Tone turned slightly in his seat, causing the tension between the women to snap. Nightshade returned the communications officer's brilliant smile, while Scarlett just raised a brow to wait for his report.

"Dusty's gonna get us camping in the lee of a sand dune..." Dial-Tone sighed, and dragged his already sweat-soaked sleeve across his brow.

"I don't care if we're beneath a camel," Flint groused. "Just so long as we get some shade!" Glancing at the GPS, Flint turned slightly, and sent the Desert Fox skidding sideways down the embankment of a dune. The girls in the back hung on to the roll cage, watching as the dune just kept angling downward beneath them. It took almost ten minutes of tense driving to reach the bottom of the trough, and on either side of them the dunes rose higher than the Eiffel Tower.

Thankfully, the temperature at the bottom was a good twenty degrees cooler, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Not too far ahead, they spotted Dusty, waving them down. He'd already spread a sleeping bag on the ground, and was comfortably sprawled out on the fabric. One by one the rest of them climbed out, each grabbing a rucksack from the back of the Fox. While the others joined Dusty sprawled out on the ground, Nightshade remained standing, shading her gaze with her hand, looking up at the sand dunes. Even though it was midday, the springtime sun wouldn't rise high enough to crest the dunes. They could rest without baking.

She lent half an ear to the conversation behind her.

"So you think we'll be able to find this... Sheik whatshisname?" Flint had asked.

Dusty never lost his cheer; it was one of his more endearing charms. "Sheik Kasim Avinizhad, and his son, the Shapur Kouroush. The last contact I had with them placed them at an oasis perhaps fifty miles from our current location. We should reach it by sixteen hundred hours, if we don't push the Fox."

"Nightshade, you and Scarlett take the first watch. In two hours, wake Dusty and I." Flint's crisp orders were received, and the two women retreated around the opposite side of the Desert Fox. Dial-Tone, not used to field operations, gave Flint a grateful nod and stretched out on his back.

Nightshade hunkered down, and lifted a handful of desert sand. Letting it sift through her fingers, she sighed softly, conscious of Scarlett's attention upon her. When the sand clung to the sweat on her palms, Nightshade dusted them off on her pants, looking across to the redhead.

"I know that look," Nightshade muttered, rolling her eyes, even though she knew Scarlett would miss the action. "Nothing is wrong."

"You're not normally this quiet," Scarlett observed, keeping her voice low. Sound traveled well in the desert, regardless of elevation.

"You're not normally this nosy." Nightshade bit back. Then she shook her head. "I'm fine... really."

Scarlett swallowed hard, and turned away. They sat at opposite ends of the Desert Fox, each keeping watch over a hemisphere. They remained silent after that minor exchange; sound in the desert travels fast and loud, unimpeded by buildings or trees. The two of them were too involved in their own thoughts to even realize that there was any danger lurking around. By the time the shoulder-launched missile was screaming through the valley, it was already too late. Giving a shout loud enough to wake her fellow soldiers, Scarlett dove away from the Desert Fox. On the other side of the vehicle, Nightshade was scrambling for cover when the ballistic hit. The Fox exploded in a conflagration of shrapnel and munitions. Before the debris had completely settled, all five Joes had drawn sidearms and were ready for a fight. The fine desert sand settled slowly.

Glints of sunlight drew their eyes to the rim of the dunes. Nearly thirty men stared down the sights of various firearms. They were all wrapped in the dozens of layers worn by the nomadic people of the deserts. Under his breath, Dusty cursed. The colors woven into their turbans, and smattering of Arabic that drifted down to him, both pointed to this being the wrong tribe. A dozen men broke off from the main force to skid with alarming alacrity down the slope of the dune. Flint and Dial-Tone automatically allowed Dusty to take the forefront. Even before he could strike up any conversation, Dusty was struck with a rifle butt and flattened. When Dial-Tone jumped to catch him, a single shot ricocheted off nearby debris.

"Lay down your weapons." One of the swathed Arabians ordered, in a suspiciously British accent. "Or you will be shot on sight."

All eyes turned to Flint, who nodded. Dropping his own pistol first, he slowly raised his hands in surrender. One by one, the motion traveled around, ending finally with Nightshade. She ground her teeth, fighting the urge to disobey orders. Two Arabians partnered off with each Joe, one holding them at gunpoint, while the other forced them to their knees. Nightshade continued to defiantly stare up the barrel of an American-made Browning 3-inch shotgun. Behind her, the Saudi grabbed her hands and forced her into shackles. As he leaned down, she caught a whiff of stale tobacco, and too much cologne trying to cover the stench of sweat. Her body reacted before she even completely understood what she was doing.

Nightshade's elbow connected hard with the guard's ribs. Scarlett threw a panicked glance toward Flint, thinking she had missed some sort of signal. Flint could only shake his head. As the Saudi holding Nightshade doubled over, she straightened her spine, whipping her head back to connect with his nose. Even before the satisfying crunch of broken cartilage had cleared from her ears, she was trying to get to her feet. In the span of seconds she had taken out one, but with her hands bound she wasn't fast enough to take out the other.

The gunshot seemed to bring the world to a halt. Scarlett shouted, while Flint cursed the Saudi's out in his rusty Arabic. Nightshade was back on the ground, lying on her side this time, missing a hefty chunk of flesh from her thigh. In the few moments before her body registered the pain, she continued to fight to stand up, a string of Spanish explicatives streaming unchecked from her mouth.

The Saudi she had head-butted began to kick her, first in the ribs. Five or six good shots had her fighting not to wretch into the sand. Dial-Tone tried to twist out of his bonds, only to feel the cool barrel of a gun resting against his temple. The threat didn't need to be spoken, all their lives where in danger here. Nightshade's captor gave her a final blow, this one directly to her head, sending her eyes rolling back, and the world to black.

* * *

"My friend? Sheik? Sheik! Wake up!" Dusty whispered hoarsely through the bars of his cage. The collection of cages were bolted to the floor, each separated about three yards from the one next to it, but almost 18 yards from those across from it. Dusty had already spotted Flint and Dial-Tone, hunched miserably in the small cages across from him. But it was the heap of cloth in the cage beside him that had Dusty's attention. The very man they'd come to evacuate from his war-torn country curled in a lump on the floor of the cage. The girls, Dusty automatically assumed, were in a separate wing. But the sheik's son Dusty hadn't yet spotted among the cages. Dusty kept insisting, alternating between Arabic and English, until the heap of rags stirred.

"I am sheik no more," the heap mumbled. "Just Kasim. Poor man. Slave..."

"Nonsense." Dusty grinned through the grime, and tried to reach through the bars to the older man. "You're alive... you're still sheik."

The white of Kasim's eyes stood out starkly against the darkness of his skin. "My people have abandoned me. Azula is no longer." He ignored the outstretched hand, and hunkered down within the remnants of his once-royal robes. Dusty fell silent, not understanding for a few moments. He glanced around again, searching for signs of Kouroush. He knew this place, he realized. These cages had once held prized fighting dogs, for the Sheik's favorite amusement. This bombed out building had to be on Azula soil.

"Kasim," Dusty began carefully, using the familiar address as the older man had wished. "What do you mean? And... where is Kouroush?"

The old man groaned and threw his head back, as though in mortal pain. The groan soon became a bitter laugh however, and when Kasim focused once more on Dusty's face among the bars, the despair in his eyes was clear. "There never has been a Kouroush."

Dusty blinked in confusion, as he considered that. He had fought beside Kouroush. There could be no Azul without a male heir; that much was written out in Avinizhad law. Dusty started suddenly, as the thought occurred to him. He looked across to Kasim once more, only to find the old man nodding slowly.

"Oh boy," Dusty muttered quietly.

* * *

Scarlett still couldn't figure out why they hadn't been locked up. If this room were a prison, she'd love to see how the rest of society lived. She felt like some fantasy damsel, locked in a tower far away from any hope of rescue. Nightshade was still out cold; the blow she'd taken to her head had kept her out the entire trip across the desert. By defacing some of the opulent blankets strewn over the bed, Scarlett had managed to staunch the flow of blood from the Latina's leg, but there was little else she could do. She paced around the room, checking the high narrow windows repeatedly. There was no hope of either woman squeezing out of there; they were just too impossibly narrow.

The heavy doors began to rattle, as someone on the other side fought with the iron lock. The doors themselves were foot-thick oak, obviously imported from some non-desert country. If her briefing was right, and her mental navigation proved correct, they were somewhere on Azul lands, if not in the royal palace. The door yanked open, and a figure was shoved roughly within. Staggering slightly, the woman straightened her back, and fired a rapid slur of Arabic curses at the men beyond the door. Scarlett caught and understood a few choice words, but elected not to speak up. Instead, she took up position between Nightshade and the newcomer. She breathed steadily as the woman began to turn.

The woman was dark-skinned, of mixed descent. There was something hard and weary about the way she regarded the red-head. In the moments that the two stared at one another, the lock outside the room clicked shut, heavy and hard. The sound broke the pall for a moment, as both women glanced to the door, as if by their wills they could open it.

Scarlett heaved a soft sigh. "Looks like we're in this together," she murmured in English.

A rustle of fabric, the woman's tattered robes swirling around her, came as swiftly as the Arabian closed the distance. Scarlett brought up her guard again, setting her feet and taking a defensive stance.

"You are American!" the woman exclaimed in excellent English. Her voice was rough and low-timbre, as though a life on the desert had scoured her throat rough and raw. She seemed happy, even relieved. But all that faded quickly. "This means that... Rudat is prisoner, as well..." She frowned, and bit her lower lip. As she turned away, Scarlett noticed for the first time that her hair was shore, short and choppy, as though inexpertly done with a knife or scissors.

"Rudat?" The name shocked Scarlett out of her self-imposed silence. "Wait, you know Dusty?"

"I fear you have come too late," the woman rattled the handle on the door, scowling at the answering, taunting voice that filtered through the thickness. "The sovereignty has fallen. The bloody Saudi's have taken our water, our oil, and our lives." She turned again to face the American, only now studying the look of complete confusion written on her features. "I am sorry. My name is Karida Amatallah bint Kasim al-Avinizhad. I was once known as Kouroush."

"The Shapur?"

She shook her head sadly. "I never had a claim to the land. My father had no sons; so he created a son from his daughter." With a heavy sigh, Karida began to move toward the bed. "My people have hurt your friend."

Scarlett rubbed the back of her neck. "Your people? Your people did nothing. We were ambushed by Saudis. It's our own fault."

"What once were Azuls, are now Saudis. The people do not follow a false Shapur, nor a Sheik who has lied for decades." Karida sat down slowly, easing herself down onto the edge of the mattress. Her fingers brushed along the bandage that graced Nightshade's leg.

"Hey, we're not giving up." Scarlett crouched, refraining from knocking the stranger's hand away. "We came to evacuate you, and your father, and that's what we're going to do. We need to break out of here, and find the guys. You can either be with me, or against me."

Karida's dark brow knit together in concern. "What of your friend?"

"Nightshade will help. She'll wake up, and we'll be one stronger."

Silence raged in the room for long moments. Scarlett waited tensely, watching for some tic or twitch of feature that would give away Karida's innermost thoughts. When the Azul revealed nothing, Scarlett laid her hand on the woman's shoulder.

"Do you trust Dusty?" When the Azul nodded slowly, her breath caught. "Then you can trust me. I'm here to help. We're here to help."

* * *

"Help! These American swine are going to kill me!"

Scarlett had to hand it to her; Karida had some acting chops. Her desperate cry for help, plus the timely smashing of a vase and some equally convincing Spanish curses from Nightshade helped seal the deal. The door rattled more, the heavy binding lock swung off and thrown to one side. When the two guards burst through, they were met with the sight of Scarlett squaring off with the former Shapur. They brandished guns, ordered them in both English and Arabic to stand down, and acted as though they still had the situation in hand.

Behind them, Nightshade slunk from the shadows of the heavy doors. She had armed herself with nothing more than a sharp shard of pottery, but it was more than enough to open one man's jugular before the other could even react. Nightshade dropped the gurgling, bleeding mess of a man, and focused her malignant intent on the second. She didn't need to worry.

In the split second where the second guard's attention had been distracted, Scarlett and Karida both sprung. Both women hit the guard with a pair of brutal punches that knocked him clean out. Nightshade eased her weight off her leg with a hiss as Karida began to drag the unconscious man toward the bed. Scarlett tore the sheets into strips, and together they bound and gagged him. Karida patted his bearded face gently, before she turned to offer a hand to Nightshade.

She found her hand batted away, as Nightshade reached down to pick up one of the men's discarded weapons. Scarlett had retrieved the other, and was checking the hallway. Motioning all clear, the two other woman crept forward. Nightshade shook the rifle in her hands.

"American models, but.." She rolled the weapon until Scarlett could see the manufacturing stamp on the stock. Both women recognized the squiggle, but to any untrained eye, the insignia would have just been another whorl in the wood.

"M.A.R.S." Scarlett groaned. "This just keeps getting deeper, doesn't it?"

Karida waited until they had finished, before pointing down the eastern hall. "The men will be in the dog pens."

"Pretty light on guards..." Nightshade commented as she motioned Karida to follow Scarlett.

"Much of the Saudi army has moved on. They left perhaps... fifty men to guard the Azul compound. Not nearly enough to cover the land."

The three women fell silent as they neared the stairs. Karida knew where she was headed, so the only thing standing between them, the men, and freedom happened to be however many guards lurked the sandstone corridors.

* * *

Dial-Tone shifted again in his cage, trying to find a comfortable way to curl up. His back ached steadily from the cramped quarters, and he knew, from the dark look of quiet determination that was painted across Flint's features, the warrant officer felt the same way. The cages weren't even fit for dogs, honestly, even though Dusty assured them that had been what lived here previously. Across the way, the former sheik huddled in a heap of robes and misery. Dusty slouched against the bars of his cage, both men had been silent since the revelation of the sheik's apparent lack of an heir.

It was obvious that those two weren't going to be much help until something shocked them out of their harsh misery. And Flint was a ball of anger, so pent up that Dial-Tone actually pitied the first person to step in his path. No, it seemed that all the chips had fallen down, and Dial-Tone felt like he was the only one with the mental capacity to make their situation any better. The simple question remained, now, just how was he going to accomplish that? Thus far there had been no ample opportunity. They were largely ignored by the guards who strode by at regular two hour intervals. No one had even thought to bring them food, or water. He couldn't allow himself to wonder just how long the sheik had been treated this way; if the man was too weak, he'd be a liability in their escape.

After all, the parameters of the mission had changed. They'd originally come to help out against the insurrection, to help the people of Azula stand against the armies of the Saudis. Now they had to save themselves, and that hothead Latina had gotten herself shot. Dial-Tone sighed hard, and shifted his position in the cage, trying to find a comfortable lean.

"So what're you thinking?" Flint's voice was thick with his pent up frustrations. Dial-Tone didn't move, but he listened to Flint readjust himself as well, until his head was as close as possible.

"I'm not sure, Flint," Dial-Tone began quietly. By his reckoning they still had another twenty minutes before the guards came around. "We're not strong enough to break the bars. The cages are bolted to the floors. The locks are solid."

Flint grunted. "Have a hard time believing these were dog cages." Without answering, Dial-Tone agreed with him. Flint kept on, thinking aloud to calm himself down. "We need to get out of here, get at least to Kuwait. We can get an evac once on sympathetic soil."

"Flint... getting out is the problem."

Twisting in his cage so he could look Dial-Tone in the eyes for a moment, the warrant officer just grinned. "You're underestimating Scarlett."

Dial-Tone arched his brows at the other, expecting some grand revelation to follow in the wake of that statement. When Flint deigned on further comment, Dial-Tone heaved a sigh and shifted again, aligning himself so he could watch the doors leading into the sprawling dog arena. His mental clock was counting down to the time when the doors would swing open, and the pair of Saudis would walk slowly through, chatting between themselves in that sparse, rapid language of theirs. Dial-Tone didn't care to listen to their talk, he could understand it if he put his mind to it. It was the unerring regularity that they strode through that captured his attention. That sort of reliability required not only a perfectly measured step, but also a complete lack of interruptions all along the way.

"Huh."

The allotted minutes had passed and the door didn't swing open on the whisper-quiet hinges. Confused, and almost irritated at the anomaly, Dial-Tone struggled until he was on his knees in the cage, with his back pressed against the top of the box. From this angle he could almost see the little window in the door, trying to see if the guards lingered outside. He began to count the minutes, feeling them tick by in slow, agonizing succession. Flint paid no attention to him, and Dusty was simply watching him with calm blue eyes from across the way.

Four minutes late, the door swung open slowly. But instead of walking down the stairs sedately, the guards, three of them this time, backed through the door, with their weapons drawn. As Dial-Tone watched, he caught a glimpse of flame red hair escaping from beneath one of the caps. Floored, he forgot to speak out. Instead, he remained in his uncomfortable lurch, and watched intently. Led by Scarlett, the other two backed down the stairs as well. The door locked shut heavily behind them. The echo of the click brought everyone's attention around.

"Scarlett!" Flint was the first to speak out, causing the red head to ditch the Saudi uniform's cap and let her hair free. She jogged from the stairs to their cages, and began to rattle a set of keys, searching for the one to set them free. Behind her, Nightshade limped with a drawn, tight face, her knuckles white on the assault rifle she carried. The third figure was also a woman, but it took Dial-Tone a minute to figure that out.

This last one raced first over to the Sheik's cage, causing the first stir from him anyone had seen in a while. Kasim's hands reached through the cage to grasp those of the woman, and they fired back and forth in Arabic much too fast for Dial-Tone to follow. Suddenly, Dial-Tone found he could stand up, and did so with slow, cracking agony. As his spine realigned with a series of loud, hard pops and snaps, he nodded his eternal thanks to Scarlett.

Dusty hadn't brought himself to speak until after the tearful reunion on father and daughter. He simply stared the entire time. Features that he had once found so familiar and so strong in his friend, were now alien, and strange. She had been masquerading as a man since she was young. Her mannerisms were nearly perfect, her voice just pitched low enough. But now Dusty could see all the little flaws that pointed fingers. The Dervish robes had been to conceal a body composed equally of curves, and muscle. Her fingers, though strong and capable, were delicate, and slender. He was beating himself mentally when Scarlett blocked his vision, rattling his cage until the lock came free.

As Dusty re-situated himself, he glanced at his fellow Joes. Nightshade was taking a talking-to from Flint like a man, practically ignoring him with all but the occasional nod, as Flint found every reason in the book to threaten her with discipline when they got back state-side. Dial-Tone was working the kinks out of his neck and shoulders, while Scarlett was finishing unlocking the Sheik's cage. As soon as Kasim rose, his daughter, formerly known as Kouroush, embraced him fiercely.

"We should get more uniforms, get out of here, and get to the Kuwaiti border as fast as possible," Scarlett interrupted Flint's tirade with a well-timed point. "They've got vehicles around here somewhere."

All eyes shifted to Karida, who met them all boldly. She even smiled, an expression Dusty had never seen Kouroush accomplish in his years of aiding the Avinizhad. She looked decidedly feminine in the moment. "Dusty knows where the weaponized vehicles are housed," she pointed out, as soon as Dusty looked away, unnerved by the change in his long-time friend. "I must stay with my father and throw these dogs out of our homelands."

"No child," Kasim lay a restraining hand on his daughter. "We will go with the Americans."

Her jaw dropped, and for long silent moments she struggled with herself. Torn between the task to be a dutiful daughter, and the patriotic 'son', Karida stared at her father with horrified realization. Kasim refused to acknowledge his child's anger, and attempted to maintain as dignified of a presence as he could, striding past her to join the Joes.

Flint led the group up the stairs, and proceeded to check for guards. The others trailed after him, except for Dusty. He lingered, watching Karida's face carefully. She guarded her emotions well, almost too well, as he watched the anger at her father's conceding victory slip behind a carefully cultured mask. Her eyes met his, as she moved toward the stairs, and he found himself, struck speechless. She strode past, climbing the stairs slowly, leaving it to Dusty to take up the rear guard. He blinked, sighed, and slowly followed in her wake.

* * *

It was quickly drawing to nightfall when they finally managed to sneak around to the garage. That was a hazard in the desert. The light always looked good, reflected off the white sands, bright and strong, until the sun touched the horizon. Once that happened, within a matter of ten minutes, the sky could go from bright blue-white, to pitch black. Dusty had often been asked during his many times serving in the Middle East to go fetch unfortunate souls who got caught out in the desert at night. He always enjoyed the desert at night.

But this was different. Kasim, Dusty, Flint and Dial-Tone all wore the uniforms of the Saudi troops now, with the four soldiers they took them from tied up in some broom closet somewhere on the grounds. They were gathered around a barrel of water, left out for the troops to drink from as the day passed. One by one, they wet their mouths, being careful to only drink enough to keep them hydrated. A full belly of sloshing water would do them no good if a fight broke out. Dusty was worried though. Nightshade was peculiarly quiet, her dark skin drawn and pale. She alone sat on the ground, her head tipped slightly back.

Scarlett caught him staring at the Latina, and nodded slightly. Good. She was worried too. They needed to be out of here before long, or something very not good was going to happen. Dusty sidled up to Flint, and gestured with his eyes towards a building across the way.

"The garage. There's a HUMVEE in there with a turret mount, should fit us all." Flint nodded slightly to indicate he'd heard. Dusty continued. "But there's also at least six guards, probably three or four mechanics. Two guards on the roof, at least four in the post just to the left there."

Flint turned away from the vista and motioned everyone to gather in the shadows of the building. "Alright, here's the plan. I need Dusty and Nightshade to take out the two guards on the roof. Quick, quiet and without a fuss..."

As he spoke, he watched Nightshade struggle to her feet. She refused an arm from both Scarlett and Dial-Tone, determined to make herself upright without help. The woman had heart, Flint had to admit that; she stood with her weight solely on her good leg. He paused long enough in his directions to pass her a pointed look, which she returned with a hard nod. She would do this simply because she refused to be the weakest link.

Flint turned slightly, motioning to Scarlett. "You think you and Karida can handle the guard shack?" As if to answer, Karida shared with them a wolfish grin. "Good. Once the guards are all taken care of, the four of you will converge on the garage. Dial-Tone, you get to find that HUMVEE. Sheik, you stay with me."

They made a show of shaking hands, bidding each other a good night. Just a change of the guards, as far as any onlookers were concerned. Nightshade did her best to hide her limp as she moved out with Dusty, skirting the edge of the road and flanking the garage until they were both in shadow. Karida and Scarlett moved toward the guard shack as casually as possible. Dial-Tone hung out with Flint and Kasim, watching the whole thing unfold.

Dusty made it up the ladder to the roof first. Nightshade followed a moment or two behind him, sweating from the pain of climbing with a bullet hole in her leg. She rested a few moments, while surveying the flat roof. Two men were staked out on the front edge, one laying prone with his elbows on the edge, the other pacing back and forth along the far side. Dusty pointed to the far side, and began to slide along the smooth concrete roof. Nightshade slipped one of the stolen knives out from her belt, and crept up on the prone soldier slowly.

She followed Dusty's lead for once, waiting until he'd wrapped his arm around the soldier's face and silenced him with a hard twist to his neck. Her soldier had begun to get up, but she dropped her knee in the small of his back, and reached around with the knife. Glancing at Dusty, she worried that the soft gurgle would be loud enough to alert the mechanics inside. After a few moments, no shouts of alarm rose from within, and she began to relax.

Dusty went down the ladder first, prepared to catch her if she slipped. Just as they reached the bottom, the rapid pop and blast of small arms gunfire began. Dusty left Nightshade to her own devices, and ran around the front of the building, his own 'borrowed' hand-gun cocked and ready. The guard shack was lit up from within, but it only lasted a few seconds. Across the road Flint came running, with Dial-Tone and the sheik close behind. They only had moments to act.

Bursting into the garage, the Joes brandished their weapons, ordering everyone to lie on the ground. As the mechanics began to comply, Nightshade limped around the corner, supporting herself with the wall. From the opposite direction, Scarlett and Karida joined them. Karida's uniform was torn at the shoulder, blood soaking the sleeve, but she had a joyous light in her eyes, and a wild grin upon her features.

Kasim fell to fussing over his daughter, while Dusty and Flint covered the mechanics. There were four of them, just as they thought. Scarlett found some heavy chain, and a padlock, and proceeded to chain them up together. Too many lives had been lost already. From deeper in the garage, they heard a deep basso rumble start up. Dial-Tone had found the HUMVEE and hotwired her already. Seating was an unspoken understanding. Flint would drive, while Dial-Tone tried to raise an American frequency on the radio. Dusty took command of the turret atop the vehicle, while Karida and Kasim got the safest seats. Scarlett and Nightshade would have to hang onto the roll-cage in the rear, where supplies and ammo were normally kept.

"It's gonna be a bumpy ride!" Flint warned as he gunned the engine out of the garage. Dusty held off using the turret, even though the grounds were coming alive in wake of their escape. He drew up his mask to ward off the desert night winds, and spun the turret to face the rear. As fast as Flint was opening ground, their small weapons wouldn't do any harm to the armored vehicle.

"Brace yourselves!" Flint swore loudly as he hit the gate at full speed. The metal shrieked and protested, but gave way beneath the big truck. Spinning the tires in the deep sand, Flint fought to face it east, and tried to edge out a little more speed.

"They're following!" Scarlett warned, only to have her words echoed by the loud _rata-tat_ of the turret.

Flint shared a quick glance with Dial-Tone. "I'd be worried if they weren't. Got anything yet?"

"Not sure," came the quick answer. He jabbed a button, and grabbed the hanging microphone. "Mayday! Mayday! American task force requesting emergency pick-up..."

The radio squelched and protested being used. Flint hit a sand dune, sending the HUMVEE airborne for thirty seconds. While the shocks absorbed most of the impact, the passengers were thrown around by the rocking vehicle. Flint didn't bother with an apology; his job was to get them all out safely. Dial-Tone released his white-knuckled grip on the dash, and shot Flint a dirty look. Then he tried a different frequency for his distress call.

Up on the turret, Dusty was starting to worry. He had spotted six vehicles tailing them when they crested the first sand dune, but since then, he hadn't seen anything. It could be good for them, he tried to tell himself. They could have lost the Saudi's; or they could have picked up something like an air strike. Dusty scanned the skies nervously, swinging slowly back and forth on the turret. The HUMVEE lurched and skidded down the side of a sand dune, much to the protest of the occupants. Dusty made it a point to remember this, and make fun of Flint's horrible driving later. When their lives weren't in danger. Yeah.

"Shit!" Scarlett lunged forward, barely catching hold of Nightshade's arm as the Latina's grip gave way. Karida twisted around in her seat, lending her arms to the task of keeping Nightshade in the vehicle. Nightshade was out; the scraps of sheets they had used to bind her wounds were soaked through crimson. Scarlett swore twice more as Flint became airborne again, then hit the ground with a jarring thud. Kasim struggled for a moment, before finding a position in which he could also lean over the seat and steady the inert form of the young lady.

"I repeat, mayday!" Again, the radio squelched, causing both Flint and Dial-Tone to wince. But moments later, Dial-Tone thumbed the mic once more. "Please, repeat? Hello?" Reaching out he thumped the dash. "C'mon, work you foreign piece of trash!"

As if he spoke the magic words, the speakers suddenly jumped to life. "_Dial-Tone? Do you copy?_"

Flint let out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding, while Dial-Tone dove into the radio communication without a pause. Flint wasn't willing to stop long enough for anyone to get a tracer lock on the radio's signal, no matter how many times Mainframe asked him. Neither Flint, nor Dial-Tone even questioned why Mainframe had answered. They knew they'd been long overdue at their rendezvous point. They figured that others had been waiting for them to make contact, before launching search parties.

Flint grimaced as Dial-Tone and Mainframe hashed out a plan. He couldn't call the mission a complete failure, because they had secured the Avinizhad family. Granted, it hadn't been an easy, quiet, in-and-out operation, but they had the sheik and his daughter safe for the moment. Above them, Dusty let out a whoop of joy, just before the scream of jet engines nearly deafened them all. Dial-Tone started laughing, bordering on hysterical, as he praised Mainframe's skills over the radio.

With air support, Flint knew they were home safe. The Conquest's wings tipped in salute, and Flint turned to follow a more direct path to their destination: Camp Arifjan. Though Flint didn't slow down, he did take a less treacherous path, keeping to the troughs between dunes instead of scaling and falling down the sides. The Conquest would take care of anything following them, all he had to do was get everyone home safe.

"How is she?" Flint finally called back, sparing a momentary glance over his shoulder.

Scarlett didn't spare him a glance, but the sheik turned to him gravely. "She has lost much blood, my friend."

"She'll make it," Scarlett corrected. "She always does."

* * *

The gates were standing open for them. Flint was relieved to see a medic team standing by, as he locked up the brakes and brought the HUMVEE to a screeching halt. Dusty was down out of the turret first, blinking in the blinding floodlights of the Camp's courtyard. He yanked doors open and helped the sheik step down from the armored vehicle, before reaching in again for Karida. Instead of accepting his offered hand, Karida helped Scarlett carefully unload Nightshade's still unresponsive form from the back.

The response was instantaneous. The medic team swarmed the scene. Most of them focused on Nightshade, but a few forced Karida to sit down. Dusty noticed then for the first time, the wound to her arm. Kneeling down beside her, he found himself asking the question that had bothered him from the start.

"Why?" She looked at him, her expression unreadable, as he settled down on the sand beside her. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

She tilted her head slightly, allowing herself a small smile. "And have you treat me differently before my people?" She reached out, patting Dusty's cheek, touching him for the first time. "I could not risk that. Only my father's closest vizier's had knowledge." For a moment, her features softened, and she began to look almost girlish in her borrowed uniform, and raggedly shore hair. "I am truly sorry. If I had known it would affect you so..." She trailed off, sparing the medic tending her arm a quick glance. He didn't seem to be paying any attention to them, but she always knew that appearances were deceiving.

Dusty yanked off his Saudi cap, and scrubbed a hand over his head. He honestly couldn't tell her if he would have treated her differently. His upbringing demanded that women be treated with utmost respect, and not the casual camaraderie that had slowly forged between them. Groaning to himself, he crossed his legs, Indian-style, and leaned forward over them, seeking a better view of her face. "I just... I thought I knew you."

She smiled for him then, an expression that was without a doubt meant for his benefit. She went from being merely girlish, to a hint of the beauty she could be. "But, Rudat, you do know me. I am Kouroush." She reached out, laying her hand on his forearm gently, but her eyes were unable to meet his. "I know, this is a deception that I cannot be forgiven for. But I hope that someday..."

Dusty felt a ray of hope break through his worry, and he burst into a beaming smile. "Someday is always just around the corner."

* * *

Nightshade felt like a train had run her over, repeatedly. As soon as she started to open her eyes, she regretted it. The light was blinding. With a muttered groan, she attempted to throw her arm over her face, only to find her movement impeded. Squinting hard through the light, she tried to make out exactly what was going on. After a moment, a shadow fell across her, blocking out most of the light. For a moment, she was grateful, until she began to make out the tubes running from her arm, up to bags of fluid and blood.

The memory of the gunshot wound hit hard. She closed her eyes again, willing away the creeping in sickening feeling. The shadow above her moved slightly, keeping itself between the light, and her sensitive eyes. After a moment, a hand reached down, and smoothed across her forehead, moving a stray curl.

_Snake Eyes_. She realized with a lurch. He'd been standing vigil for who knows how long. Hospitals bothered him. So where were they? She started to sit up, to move around, but his hand on her shoulder prevented her from going too far. He tapped his index finger against her forehead, calling for her to use some bit of her brain. She forced herself to relax, muscle by muscle, until her head slid to one side. As she wound down, the ninja retrieved from one of his many pockets a pair of sunglasses. Tucking them gently over Nightshade's face, he gave her a moment to adjust before lowering himself to sit on the edge of her bed. Seeking out Snake Eyes' hand with her own, Nightshade gave him a squeeze.

"_Gracias_." She fell silent for a few moments, while Snake Eyes returned her squeeze. With her shades on, she could see him clearer in the brilliant light, and could read the tilt of his head as expectant, waiting for the other words to drop. With a sigh, she obliged him. "And I'm sorry." He leaned forward slightly, prompting her to continue. "For being such a pain in the ass."

There was something like a laugh, or as close to it as the silent man could manage, a slight shake of his shoulders, and a tipping back of his head. They were cut short however, as Scarlett and Mainframe poked their heads into the tent. Nightshade wanted to offer a grin of welcome, but both of them were silent and somber.

"We have a bit of a problem," Scarlett admitted quietly. "We're just waiting for others." She stepped inside the flap to make way for the rest of the Joes. Dial-Tone held the flap open for Kasim and his daughter, who trailed behind with a strangely somber Dusty.

"Alright, Mainframe, what's going on?" Flint poised the question as soon as everyone had settled.

"The Saudi's are claiming they had nothing to do with the attack on Azul." Mainframe was blunt about it, which everyone appreciated except for the Azul's standing with them.

"That is..." Karida struggled for the word, raising her fist into the air. "Camel dung! Those were Saudi troops, with Saudi weapons!"

Nightshade shot Scarlett a quick glance. "No, they weren't."

"The guns had MARS manufacturing stamps on them," Scarlett finished, catching on quickly. "There's something going on here that we're not quite seeing yet."


	7. In or Out

**In or Out**

_Nightshade_

"I can't believe we didn't see this before," Mainframe ran his fingers over the keyboard, filling the expectant silence with the tapping of keys. The screen over his head flickered to life, bathing the gathered in a greenish glow. "Every single report that we've had of either MARS weapons, or Cobra munitions has come weeks, before or after a major uprising, revolution, or terrorist attack."

The crowd shifted a little unsteadily, a soft undercurrent of disbelief running through them. Duke held up a hand and quieted the room, reminding them all they were soldiers first and foremost. Mainframe waited until they were all silent again, before punching up a few key displays.

"First there was Crackshot's interruption of the deal in Cambodia. She eyewitnessed Destro himself making the exchange. Unfortunately, it seems they still got the goods, and three weeks later there was this bloodbath south of Phnom Penh. Members of the Khmer Rouge claimed responsibility."

He flipped quickly through a few photos and a headline from a Cambodian newspaper, but he spared them the details. They could see for themselves the bodies lying in the street, the rubble from the destroyed buildings, and the bullet-holes riddling the cars. He flicked past it, and onto the next illustration.

"This is North Ireland. Barbeque was on R&R there, when he discovered this." The screen flits to Polaroids taken in the back room of a small bar, showing crates emblazoned with the Cobra hooded viper. "Two weeks later, the IRA staged a major assault on Dublin. Five were killed, eight more injured."

"In Peru, members of the Shining Path killed Carlos Rodriguez, who was running for President, merely days after Nightshade and Snake Eyes busted out of there. Their report includes using a Cobra munitions dump as a distraction to aid their escape. The pattern repeats itself over and over, Spain, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, Russia. And get this, in the past six months, here in the U.S, there's been more than a fifty percent increase in the amount of gang violence. Tell me that's not cause for concern?"

He flicked to a final slide, showing this time a map of the entire globe, with pins placed at every occurrence of terrorist activity that had been linked with a proper sighting of MARS or Cobra. The result was fairly sobering. As the lights slowly came up in the briefing room, Duke turned to face his comrades.

"Now, the question is, Joes, what do we do about this?" he posed it aloud.

For a few moments there was silence, as all the Joes mulled the thoughts over. A few glanced at each other, or stared at the map. Finally, Scarlett spoke up, breaking the tension by offering a thought.

"We have the dots now, so maybe we can start preventing some of the attacks."

"This feels like the start of something bigger," Crackshot murmured from the back of the group. Her voice was soft, but carried well. Scarlett shot her a glance. "Something that we're not seeing the whole of."

"It's too scattered." Dial-Tone offered. "Nothing like the planned strikes they've done before. I mean, what possible significance could Peru hold for Cobra forces?"

"Or MARS? And how are they paying for the weapons? Most of these instances are just state terrorists, not national problems." Scarlett started musing aloud, stepping forward slightly to stand beside Duke. The top shirt tried not to grin at her mastery of the situation. She was doing exactly what he wanted, letting the Joes come to their own conclusions, making the team feel like just that: a team.

"They're distractions." Her voice came from the corner, where she had been sitting and watching the entire time. Nightshade's leg was still on the mend, but she refused to waste her time. So she was active the only way she could be, helping out around the PIT. Snake Eyes crouched beside her, and only nodded sagely when she glanced at him.

"We did things like that all the time, when I was in Los Angeles. Recruit other kids from the _barrio, _give them guns and knives, and unleash them on the city. So we could get done what we needed to, while the cops chased after the _cabrónes._" She looked around at the gathered Joes. They hadn't a clue. Not most of them. They way they were looking at her now; this was the first most of them were hearing about her time before the military. "They're fryin' bigger fish, Duke, tryin' to keep us chasing our own tails."

Snake Eyes turned his attention from Nightshade to Duke, as though daring him to try and counter her claims. The two of them knew more about her history than the rest of the team. Duke had read her files start to finish, even the classified parts, before destroying them, and the existence of Cassie Riviera from the records of the U.S. Government. Snake Eyes had heard murmurings of stories in their time in his cabin, half-dreams and whole-realities that still bothered her. He looked to Nightshade again, and finally straightened.

Pointing at the screen, he caught Duke's attention, and made a widening gesture with his hands.

"Snakes is right. Mainframe, can you add in all the abnormal activity in the past six months?" Duke moved over to stand behind Mainframe's chair, watching over his shoulder, as the techie fell to his task without another word. In moments, the map above began to blaze to life, a layer of additional pins, a different color than the first set, began to pop up, all over the globe. Duke felt his mouth go dry. China, Vietnam, Korea, Japan, Mexico, Nicaragua, Brazil, Venezuela, Chad, Mozambique. The list kept seeming to grow, not stopping. Even America began to light up, mostly along the west coast but along Manhattan and Rhode Island as well.

"There's no pattern." Scarlett whispered behind him. "Nothing. No rhyme, no reason. Just... chaos."

Someone whistled low, and incredulous. Someone else swore softly. Duke turned as pins kept popping up on the screen, looking at the gathered Joes. "We need a plan folks. We need to figure something out."

* * *

It was hours past lights out when he finally found her. She had been kept behind by Duke after the think-tank session. He'd waited in the corridor for a half-hour before she emerged, and summarily walked away without a word. Honestly, he couldn't blame her. Nightshade was a giant bottle of emotion, all things she had kept hidden for so long. To come out and speak like that, candidly, factually, of the things she had done in her past, must have hurt her. Some of the Joes would never look at her the same way again; while others would find new respect for her strength. Snake Eyes only knew that wounded people were like animals, sometimes. They strike out blindly, ragefully, uncontrollably at anything resembling a threat, and most often wind up dead because of their actions.

He would never let Nightshade come to that harm.

He waited motionless in the doorway to the sparring room, expecting her to turn and scold him for being so sneaky. But she didn't move, never acknowledged his presence. She hunched over something in her lap, but it wasn't until he heard the soft twang of strings did he realize she cradled her guitar. He'd seen her with it before, seen it in her barrack, but never had he heard her play.

She plucked one note, then a second, wincing physically as the note sang sour. "_Lo siento.._" She whispered, reaching out to twist a knob on the neck. Hearing her voice unstuck Snake Eyes from the doorway, allowing him to pad on soundless feet into the darkened room. The impact mats made a soft sigh as he stepped on them, the air held within the pads moving elsewhere to compensate for his weight.

Nightshade froze, gripping the guitar tightly so she wouldn't be seen to startle. "I don't need your sympathy, Snakes." There was something icy in her voice that caused his spine to straighten defensively. "I don't need anything, right now." Her voice caught, and hung up at the end of her statement. He could feel the stress radiating off of her. For a moment he froze, his thoughts torn.

He'd lost Scarlett because of his inability to step beyond the boundaries of his own comfort zone. When she needed him, he had always turned away, or failed to step-up. He knew it; he recognized it within himself. His own fatal flaw. As Nightshade bent again to the strings of her guitar, he was gripped with the urge to leave; to turn and disappear into the darkness and leave her alone with her conflicts and her thoughts.

She murmured another apology to an out-of-tune chord she struck, but her hand was shaking as she moved to tune the instrument further. Snake Eyes looked to the ceiling, took a deep breath, and finally chose to act. He slid to his knees beside her, catching her shaking hand between his two. She looked at him finally, biting her lower lip.

"I can't do it. I can't do what Duke wants me to." The confession fell out of Nightshade before she could stop herself. Something about Snake Eyes made it easy for her to talk to him, really to talk at him. He rarely found need to answer with anything but a tilted head, or a squeezed hand. This occasion was no different; he simply gave her hand a squeeze, and drew it away from the neck of the guitar.

Setting her hand into her lap, Snake Eyes continued to move; gently removing her other hand from gripping the strap of the guitar. He slipped the instrument from around her neck, and laid it on his opposite side, removing any barriers between them. He watched the way her gaze followed the guitar; he knew without being told that the instrument had once belonged to her elder brother.

He moved then on his knees to sit before her, crossing his legs in imitation of hers. As he reached out to take her hands, he squared his shoulders, straightened his spine, which caused her to unconsciously mimic him. Her fingers curled tightly into his, and she exhaled a long, deep breath, trying desperately to relax some of the tension away.

She was silent for a few minutes, which normally Snake Eyes would take as a good sign. Nightshade loved to talk. She was a story-teller and a sharer. It was in her nature to be social and friendly, to crave interaction to fill her uneasiness. It had taken knowing Snake Eyes to teach her the value of silence, and the meaning that could be packed into a simple gesture. In so many ways, his influence had made her a better person. But her thoughts wouldn't rest, she couldn't shake the feeling that Duke was purposefully sending her into a death trap. And try as she might, she couldn't keep those worries from spilling out into the open.

"He's sending me back. To Los Angeles. To the barrio. I'm supposed to get back into MS13 after fighting so hard to get _out_." Nightshade's words just tumbled out, showing exactly what Snake Eyes had feared. She was too emotionally vested in this mission, afraid of the outcome, and afraid that she wouldn't be supported for the duration. He tightened his hands around hers again, unsure what else to do.

"They'll kill me as soon as they lay eyes on me, Snakes. I'm a rat, traitor... You don't just... leave that sort of life. You only die..." Nightshade kept talking, her outer shell beginning to crack with the stress of heading back to the lion's den. Unshed tears began to glisten in the corners of her eyes; he could feel the shakes in her limbs as she tried desperately to control her fears.

Snake Eyes shook his head slightly, wishing that he could make some words of comfort for her. But he knew only one thing that would help calm her. Human contact. Human comfort. Before he could talk himself out of it, he tightened his arms, drawing her forward slowly. She didn't even attempt to fight him, allowing herself to be drawn out of her cross-legged seat and into his sacred personal space.

He allowed her to curl into his lap, her arms sliding around his neck. His arms stole around her, one hand smoothing over her back. As she pressed her head into the crook of his neck, he released a slow, long breath. Slipping a hand up through her curls, he tightened his grip. She wouldn't be alone in this mission; he would see to that. Nothing would happen to her while he was still standing.


End file.
